Immortalis Dominus Dominatus
by Auror5
Summary: To paraphrase J.K. Rowling: If you are going to write about evil, you must show what that means. Follow Riddle's path into the the abyss of darkness and his rise into power. {a story in progress}
1. Prologue

**_A/N:_ ** _In case you missed the summary, this story is **rated R ** for violence and very adult content. You have been forewarned. This story is about Lord Voldemort's ascent to power; therefore, it cannot possibly be nice and sweet. Read it...if you dare. _

_Note: It is going to take me awhile to complete this story, so expect weeks to pass between chapters. Why? I'm writing about evil. It's difficult to think dark and evilly for long stretches at a time. Also, I'm writing about stuff I normally would not watch on a television or movie screen. This is the most intense fic I've ever written. It also contains themes or elements which cause me to blush while writing them. As you can see, I'm serious about this._

_Hugs and kisses to those who stick with this "epic." Give yourself a long-stemmed, red rose if you provide a review. ^_~_

_**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter ideas, characters, and places do not belong to me. They belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Brothers._

**~~~~~~**

_**Immortalis Dominus Dominatus**_

by Auror5 

**Prologue**

"_Sometimes when I consider what tremendous consequences come from little things, I am tempted to think, there are no little things_." ~Bruce Barton

**~~~~~~**

_Please let it continue_, she thought in the twilight between dreaming and waking. 

She was six years old again playing in the hilly, flower-dappled meadow behind Grandfather's house. The sky was a beautiful, soft summer blue where gulls frolicked, and chattered in harsh voices. A playful, light breeze from the Irish Sea caressed the girl-child's face and lifted her long, glossy tresses. She bent and pulled up a daffodil from the soft earth to bring to Grandfather. After she acquired a handful of the sunny flowers, she ran down the hill to her much beloved grandfather. He stood and watched the picturesque child with his dark, ringlets and dusk blue eyes run barefooted towards him. 

Panting, she gaily shouted, "Here, Grandfather. These are for you." She handed him the bouquet of sweet smelling sunshine, lovingly chosen just for him. 

Grandfather took the gift and gently placed his hand on the girl's head. "Thank you, my Moon Princess." He smiled warmly at the little face upturned to his. 

She gazed up at him with a smile that radiated her delicate, pretty face. How she loved Grandfather! 

Then the sun's angle changed to obscure Grandfather's kindly face. Slowly, he began to disappear into the bright rays. 

"Grandfather?" 

"Grandfather!" She began to panic. 

"GRANDFATHER!" she wailed as he completely vanished into the sun. 

"GRANDFATHER, COME BACK TO ME!" 

Far away, his voice came back to her. "Not yet, Moon Princess." 

Then she remembered that Grandfather died when he was thrown from a Thestral, a rare black winged horse.(1) 

The horn blasted through her dream and shredded it. 

She rose slowly and awkwardly from her cot for another day's work at Holwark Textile Factory. 

"Better get a move on, Winona," said Rivers not unkindly. 

Winona smiled wanly, and, before she could prevent it, was attacked by a series of brutal coughs that wracked her frame and tore at her lungs and throat. She was able to grab a ragged handkerchief to catch the blood that invariably flew from her mouth whenever she coughed. 

"Are you going to stay with us another day?" said Ruby. 

Winona nodded, and managed to stand. It was a miracle that her thin frame, vainly fighting the last stages of consumption, was able to withstand the load she was carrying. It seemed as though the unborn child was taking everything from her. Despite it all, it continued to thrive and grow. Winona's large, bulbous stomach appeared grotesque on her nearly emaciated body. 

The matron of the ward, Gertrude Von Tassel, barged into the cramped room housing twenty-three indigent women. Her large bulk blocked most of the doorframe. 

"Step lively!" she barked. "There will be no time for breakfast." 

The women groaned. 

"Come, don't you people have a heart? We're half starved as it is," Mary boldly stated. 

Von Tassel gazed at Mary as though she were an insect. "Greedy, ungrateful riff-raff, that's what you are. That's what _all_ of you are! We provide a roof over your heads and healthy rations, and you _dare_ to ask for more. Ungrateful wretches!" she spat. 

"It is your own fault that you are too lazy and shiftless to do for self! Now, get a move on! Mr. Baron wants all of you at the factory an hour early, and I mean to see you get there, _on time_." 

"Please, Miss, could we have _something_? A piece of bread or an orange?" 

"What did I just tell you, Sally? You will get _nothing_ this morning! If you open your mouth again, you won't get supper either!" 

"What about, Winona, Miss?" retorted Lizzie. "Look at her. She needs something for the child, if not for herself." 

Von Tassel turned her chilly blue eyes on Winona and gazed at her with contempt. "That bastard needs _nothing_. It deserves to be drowned as soon as it is born. It will just be another burden on society, as if we don't have enough problems." 

She turned to the rest of the women in the poorhouse ward. "Now, MOVE IT, I say!" 

****** 

Her water broke and the labour pains began while she was working the loom. She gasped as the cramps tore at her abdomen. The foreman shouted at her to continue working when he caught her doubled up in front of the partially woven wool. 

Before the workday ended, she could no longer bear the constricting pains. She begged the foreman to send her to a hospital for her baby was coming. He sneered at her helplessness, and then summoned two women employees. 

"Sir?" 

"Escort this wench over to Ste. Catherine's Orphanage. I don't want her having the bastard on the premises." 

"Yes, sir." 

"Come, Winona," said Frances as she gently assisted Winona to her feet. 

Frances and Carolyn helped Winona walk three-quarters of a mile to Ste. Catherine's Orphanage. It took them nearly two hours to reach their destination. 

****** 

"Name, please," inquired the unfriendly woman behind the desk in the receiving room at Ste. Catherine's. 

"Winona," she gasped in a weak voice as another wave of contractions hit her. "Winona Astrid Riddle." 

"Wait here," ordered the woman, and then she left. 

"Are you going to be all right, dearie?" said Carolyn, a scrawny, middle-aged woman. 

Winona nodded. A moment later, she was seized with a coughing fit. 

"Good God, you would think that they would give her a chair to sit on," exclaimed Frances in consternation. 

About twenty minutes later, the unfriendly woman returned with a man wearing a long, white coat and a mask over his face. 

"Good evening, ladies. I am Doctor Potten. Will you two help bring Miss Riddle to the room down the hall?" 

"Yes, Doctor," replied Carolyn. 

"Come, Winona, just a little farther," said Frances softly as she placed her arm around Winona's waist. 

Once she was settled on the bed, Doctor Potten politely ordered Frances and Carolyn to leave. After they had left the room, the doctor began to ask Winona questions. The nurse beside him, wearing a mask, jotted down Winona's responses in a ledger. 

"How old are you, Miss Riddle?" 

"Nineteen, sir." 

"The child's father's name?" 

"Tom Riddle." Then she screamed as a particularly agonising cramp seized her. 

"Nancy, give her some water, and bring more towels," he told the nurse. "Be careful not to touch anything with your bare hands. She has consumption." 

Nancy left. About a minute later, she returned to encourage Winona to drink a glass of water. The drink was cool and refreshing to her raw throat. 

"Now, then," said Doctor Potten returning to business. "How long have you been coughing up blood?" 

"About five months, sir." 

Doctor Potten winced. "I will be frank with you, Miss. I doubt that you or your child will survive. I've seen cases like this before. Your child may be stillborn. In your condition, it is highly unlikely that you will live after it's born. Tell me, do you have anyone for us to contact in the event your child is born healthy? Where is Mr. Riddle?" 

Weakly, she replied, "Tom abandoned me, sir. He has no interest in the child." 

Doctor Potten and Nancy glanced at each other. Then Doctor Potten said, "Can anyone else vouch for it? What about your parents?" 

Overwhelming sadness briefly flitted across her face. "My parents live in Little Hangleton, in North Yorkshire." 

"Their names and address, please." 

"Drakonis and Iris Slytherin. Number thirteen, Hollow Lane." 

Hours later, she was deep within the throes of labour. The doctor told her when to push and breathe. Winona did not believe she could make it. Her breathing became raspier, and blood began to trickle from her mouth without the aid of a cough. 

Once, she thought she heard the doctor whisper to the nurse that she was dying. Death no longer frightened her. It would be a relief. She would be free of this wretched world. Doctor Potten noted her glassy eyes. 

With all of the failing strength she could muster, Winona pushed and the baby's head broke through with a ripping pain. 

"Come, Winona, just one more push!" 

She pushed. A moment later, Winona heard her child cry. 

"You have a boy," smiled Nancy. 

Feebly, with darkness gathering on the periphery of her vision, Winona requested to see her son. 

Nancy placed the swaddled newborn in her arms. Winona gazed at the reddish coloured baby with sparse, fine strands of jet-black hair and indistinct hued eyes. She pressed her lips to his forehead. 

"Here, let me take him," said Nancy. 

"Please, let me hold him," begged Winona in a weak, raspy voice. "Please." Then she closed her eyes. 

"Nancy, she will not hold on much longer. Go fetch Father Joseph." 

"Yes, sir." 

Winona heard Nancy's footsteps as she left the room. 

"His name is Tom Marvolo Riddle," Winona said quietly as her life began to ebb in earnest. 

"Pardon?" said Dr. Potten. 

"My son. His name is Tom Marvolo Riddle. Tom after his father, and Marvolo after his grandfather." 

"It has been noted." 

In a journal, Doctor Potten wrote: "Born 11:13 P.M., on the 24th of June in the year of our Lord, 1926, a boy: Tom Marvolo Riddle to Winona Astrid Riddle, age 19." 

Tom would spend the first five years of his life in Ste. Catherine's before being transferred to St. Cuthbert's Orphanage for Boys. 

Nancy returned with Father Joseph, who grabbed a chair and sat next to Winona's bed. While wearing a mask and gloves, he began to read from the twenty-third chapter of Psalms. 

_The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in the green pastures; he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul; he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake_. 

Distantly, as the darkness rushed toward her and began to enfold her in its arms, Winona heard a voice say, "Take the child to the infants' ward." 

_Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies; thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever_. "Amen." 

"Come, Moon Princess." 

"Grandfather?" 

"I'm here. I've come back for you." 

She smiled, for it was true. There he was standing before her in the bright sunlight on the hill full of daffodils behind his house. She reached out to take his hand. "Grandfather, I _missed_ you. Where have you been?" 

**~~~~~~**

_(1)J.K. Rowling as Newt Scamander, Fantastic Beasts & Where To Find Them, (Scholastic Press, 2001), p42._


	2. Part I: Alpha (Chapter I: Tiger)

_**A/N**: I conducted some research on conditions of orphanages in the 1930s, 40s, and 50s. They were horrible by many accounts. It was practically normal for orphans to be subjected to abuse. I strongly suspect that the environment in which Riddle grew up primarily influenced his behaviour and, to some degree, his personality. It would be unrealistic to expect someone who had spent most of his or her childhood under horrific conditions to end up "normal" or good. Based on actual accounts I read from adults who grew up in orphanages in the 1940s and 50s, they either ended up in mental institutions or spent time in prison. The one thing I learned was that they desired (consciously or subconsciously) to be wanted and to be loved. However, they had no concept of what love was or how to demonstrate it because love was never given or shown to them. Those stories broke my heart._

_**Warning**: Graphic child abuse and animal cruelty ahead._

_**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter ideas, characters, and places do not belong to me. They belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Brothers._

**~~~~~~**

_**Immortalis Dominus Dominatus**_

**Part I: _Alpha_**

by Auror5

"_We know the truth, not only by the reason, but by the heart._" ~Blaise Pascal 

~~~~~~ 

**Chapter I: Tiger **

**... 1937 ...**

If Nigel did not become silent, he would be responsible for the severe beating of every boy in the wing. 

"Shh, Nigel," exclaimed David in a loud whisper. 

"I want me mummy," the six year old wailed in the dark. 

"She's dead," responded ten-year-old Tom, and then thought, _Like mine_. 

Nigel cried harder. 

Several of the boys whispered for him to shut up. 

"You're going to have us all whipped if you don't shut up," said Tom anxiously while sitting up in bed. 

Nigel continued to sob. 

"Please, someone _do_ something before Krupp shows up," said eight-year-old Chester fearfully. "I don't want the strap again." 

Tom rose from his cot, one of many aligned in neat rows. 

Distantly, the boys heard a door slam. 

"Oh shite. Krupp's coming," exclaimed Alfred. "_Shut_ _up_, Nigel." 

Tom leapt off his cot as he heard the ominous sound of Krupp's booted feet approaching. He hurriedly fashioned his pillow and blankets to give the appearance of someone in bed. That accomplished, he ran over to Nigel's cot and threw his body on top of the sobbing boy as the menacing footsteps crept closer. Then, heart racing with fear, he placed a pillow over the small boy's head. Nigel began to struggle beneath him as Tom quickly flung the thin blanket over them both. 

The door to the orphans' room swung open, heralding the arrival of a tall, very muscular man. Krupp stood in the doorway for a moment surveying the room. Then he left. 

"That was close," ten-year-old Henry whispered with an audible exhalation. "Thanks for shutting him up, Tom." 

Tom slid off Nigel, removed the pillow, and slapped him. Nigel whimpered. 

"Don't make any more noise, Nigel," said Tom in a stern voice that shook with relief as he returned to his cot. 

A few hours later, Tom awoke to Nigel sobbing again. 

Tom spent a few minutes staring at the ceiling vividly recalling his most recent flogging for accidentally breaking a soapy saucer. He knew that it was a matter of time before Nigel's crying would result in another beating. Sighing with dismay and apprehension, Tom rose from his cot and tiptoed to Nigel's bed. He then climbed in with him. 

"Nigel, you _must_ stop crying. You're going to get us all the strap," he whispered in the six-year-old's ear. 

"I want me mummy." 

"She's dead. Forget about her. She isn't coming back." 

Nigel wailed louder. 

Tom clamped his hand over Nigel's mouth. "Shh! Do you want us all to be punished? I _don't_ want the strap again." 

Nigel tried to remove Tom's hand from his mouth. His muffled cries grew louder. Tom became alarmed. 

"Look, Nigel, you've been here for only a few days. You don't know what the strap is like. If you don't shut up, you're going to be beaten. D'you want to know what it's like?" 

Nigel managed to pry Tom's hand from his mouth. 

"Yes," he sniffed. 

"They take you into this room, have you strip, and then whip you until you bleed." 

"I want to go home," he wailed. "I want Mummy." 

Then Nigel began to bawl harder. 

Tom cruelly placed both of his hands over the boy's mouth. Nigel's muffled cries became louder and more frantic as he struggled to escape Tom's grip. 

In desperation, Tom removed his hands from Nigel's mouth and whisked the pillow from beneath the boy's head. He placed it over Nigel's face where he firmly pressed it. Nigel struggled desperately to remove the pillow that was suffocating him. To prevent him from succeeding, Tom threw all of his weight on Nigel to gain a tighter hold. Nigel's efforts to escape grew weaker. Tom soon felt Nigel's body go limp. He removed the pillow from the six-year-old's head. 

"Nigel," Tom whispered. 

"Nigel," he repeated, fearfully 

"_Nigel_?" 

Frightened of what Nigel's still and silent form portended, Tom swiftly left for his cot. A minute later, the door swung open and Krupp peered into the gloomy, silent wing. 

**********

He woke to whispers. 

"I think he's dead." 

"How do you know?" 

"Look at him. He looks like Toby did when he died." 

"Is he cold?" 

"I don't know. Touch him." 

"No." 

"I'll do it." 

"Is he cold?" 

"Yes." 

"That means he's dead." 

"Tom's awake." 

"Tom, Nigel's dead." 

A stab of terror penetrated Tom's heart. Pretending that he had no knowledge of the circumstances surrounding Nigel's death, Tom swung his feet from his cot with hands clasped into fists to hide their shaking. 

"Let me see." 

They stepped aside to allow Tom to view the body. 

Tom gazed down at Nigel's chalk-white face and blue tinged lips. 

Every boy's head turned when Krupp entered the room. 

"Get your clothes on," he barked. "What's this?" Krupp gazed down at Nigel. 

"Shite." Krupp turned to the boys. "Go on. Put on your clothes, I said! NOW!" 

**********

"I saw you last night," whispered Phillip, aged nine, to Tom as they washed dishes after supper. 

Several other boys, all teenagers, were also assisting with cleaning the numerous bowls, plates, glasses, and silverware. At that moment, they were ignoring Tom and Phillip. 

Nervous, Tom turned to face Phillip with a soapy glass in his hands. "What are you getting on at?" 

"Nigel. I saw you smother him." 

Scared, Tom dropped the glass into a tub full of nearly scalding, dirty water and then grabbed the collar of Phillip's uniform. 

"I didn't mean to!" he whispered a bit too loudly. "It was an _accident_. I didn't mean to." 

Undaunted, Phillip replied, "You'll hang when they find out about it." 

Inches from Phillip's face, Tom said, "You better not say anything, Phillip. It was an _accident_." 

"But still...." 

Starting to drown in panic, a thought popped into Tom's head and he seized it. "If you tell, I'll tell them that you watched me while I did it. You'll hang for not stopping me. You helped kill him, too, Phillip." 

Speechless, Phillip's eyes widened in terror. 

Tom let go of Phillip's collar. 

"We're in this together, Phillip. If they find out about me, they'll find out about you. Let's promise we'll forget this." 

"All right," Phillip said in a tremulous voice. 

"Let's shake hands to seal our promise." 

They gravely shook hands over the memory of a dead child. 

**********

The boys, aged ten years and up, filed into the orphanage after a hard day's labour at Holwark Textile Factory. Tom Marvolo Riddle carried bruises on his face that were administered by the factory foreman for not moving fast enough to suit his purposes. 

On their way into the meal hall, two large men roughly snatched Tom from the queue and marched him swiftly down the corridor. Completely caught off guard, Tom wondered why he was about to be disciplined. He was brusquely shoved into what the boys referred to as the Whipping Room. 

"What did I do?" Tom wailed, loudly. "What did I do?" 

"Shut up," snarled Krupp, and backhanded him. 

Tom fell to the floor. 

"Get up, boy," Cracken said, gripping a long, loosely coiled whip. 

Blood trickling from his nose, he staggered to his feet. 

"You know the routine," said Krupp. 

Tom summarily began to remove his clothes. Once he was naked, he turned to grip the metal bar anchored to the wall. The whip bit into his flesh, and Tom shrieked. Again, Cracken lashed the whip forcefully across his back, tearing into his skin. Tom shrieked until his throat became raw and his screams hoarse.

At some point, during the abuse, Tom hazily thought, as he fought to maintain a grip on the bar, Cracken had beaten him longer than normal. His entire backside in excruciating agony, Tom passed out. 

When he came to, he found himself lying naked on a cold, stone floor in a tiny dark room. Tom was in Solitary. His back, bum, and legs felt as though they were on fire. Fury welled up inside him at the thought that Phillip had perhaps betrayed him. _If he told, I'll make him pay_, Tom thought before losing consciousness again. 

Tom was in Solitary, in the dark, for a week without food and clothing. All he was given was water. The raw, bloody stripes on his body slowly healed. 

**********

Tom sat with the other boys in the hall silently partaking of a skimpy meal of broth and mouldy bread. The boys knew better not to speak while eating. 

"Riddle, come up here," demanded Lewiston. 

Tom placed his spoon on the table, and slowly walked toward the front of the hall. He was still hungry. Once he reached the table where the master sat relishing a healthy and hearty meal, he said, "Sir?" 

"Turn around and face the hall," Lewiston barked while unfolding a letter. 

He complied with weariness in his heart. 

"'Dear Mister Riddle,'" Lewiston read. "'We are immensely pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.'"(1) 

Whispering filled the hall like the sound of hundreds of fluttering wings. 

"SILENCE!" 

Lewiston resumed reading the letter. 

"'You will find enclosed a list of the necessary books and equipment. Your term begins on the twenty-sixth of August. We await your reply by no later than the twenty-fourth of June. 

"'Sincerely, Albus Dumbledore, Deputy Headmaster.'"(2) 

Lewiston refolded the letter and placed it on the table. "Boys, we have Satan in our midst." 

Tom stared at his worn, ill-fitting shoes while two hundred and twenty-one pairs of eyes gazed upon him with fear. 

"Strip, boy," ordered Krupp. "We want to see if you have a tail." 

"Sir?" 

Stewart leaned across the table and boxed him on the ear. "You heard him," he growled. 

Tom staggered from the blow, but recovered before he could fall. He reached up to cradle his rapidly swelling ear. 

"Strip!" 

Reluctantly, Tom removed his clothes in front of the entire orphanage. The youngest boys giggled behind their hands as Tom stood in front of the assembly nude. He blinked back tears and tried to cover his privates. 

"Turn around, boy. Let them see if ye've got a forked tail," said Bingham leering. 

Tom turned so that the boys could see his bum. Tears of humiliation leaked down his face. 

"Truly amazing!" Lewiston exclaimed. "This imp doesn't have a tail." 

"Perhaps he has horns," drawled Krupp. "Why don't we find out, eh?" 

Bingham rose and walked around the table towards Tom. "Turn around, boy, and face the hall," he snarled. 

Tears flowing and nose running unchecked, Tom did as he was told. 

Bingham grabbed Tom by the hair and yanked his head back. Then he began to cruelly shave Tom's head. Tom yelped as the sharp blade cut his scalp several times. A trickle of blood dripped into his left eye. He stood there, bald and naked, as a number of boys laughed. 

"No horns or a tail, boys. As we are taught in our Holy Bible, Satan is the Master of Deception," bellowed Lewiston. "This one chose to walk amongst us in human form." 

"He is infested with a demon," Cracken said. "It must be beaten out of him." 

"Tweed," yelled Krupp. "Come up here!" 

Visibly shaking, a boy of about seven timidly approached the front of the hall. 

"Sir?" 

"Beat the vile wickedness from Satan's spawn. Go on then." 

Tweed half-heartedly slapped Tom. 

"Boy," Lewiston shouted. "You ought to do better than that or you will get the same as this devil here." 

Tweed, with as much strength as he could muster, rammed his fist into Tom's stomach. 

Tom doubled up with pain. 

"Stay on your feet!" barked Cracken. 

"Carrisford!" 

A tall sixteen-year-old eagerly approached Tom, and with pleasure in his eyes, swung his fist at Tom's face. Tom fell heavily onto the floor from the impact. He began to sob plaintively. 

"Get up, demon!" Bingham said. 

Blood pouring from his broken nose and a spectacular bruise blossoming on his stomach, Tom climbed slowly to his feet. 

"Devon!" 

One by one, each boy was called to beat the devil from Tom. He was slapped, bit, scratched, kicked, and pummelled with fists. One boy removed his shoe with excitement and whacked Tom across the forehead with it. Michelson, aged six, was the one who started the kicking by delivering a well-placed and effective kick to Tom's privates. Tom fell to his knees gasping from the agonising pain. For a fortnight afterwards, he urinated blood. 

The orphanage master continued to call a boy to the front until each one had a turn long after Tom had lost consciousness. 

**********

Tom entered Lewiston's cramped office. He was very thin and pale from spending nearly a month in Solitary. His jet-black hair had started to re-grow and the numerous bruises administered to him by his fellow orphans were fading. He still wore a heavy bandage around his midsection while his broken ribs healed. 

"Sir? You wanted to see me?" 

"Yes," Lewiston snapped. "Are you daft? Why else would I call your wretched mug into me office? For tea and biscuits?" 

Tom looked down at his feet. 

"Satan's apprentice came to our sanctified and God-fearing orphanage on your behalf. I would have had the demon thrown out if he hadn't presented me with ten pounds. These times are difficult for a family man, very difficult. 

"It would seem that this devil is of some relation to you, not surprising. Your grandfather, he said he was. Interesting he had no desire to remove you from our blessed home. We're stuck with you, imp. 

"This grandfather of yours will see to it that you attend this heathen school full of devilry and will handle all affairs pertaining to it. 

"I shall tell you, boy, each time Satan's apprentice shows up in our God-fearing home, you will spend a fortnight in Solitary. 

"You will return to your cell for another fortnight. Go on. Get out of my sight. Your mug makes me ill." 

Tom left Lewiston's office, his mind a whirlwind of emotion. He had a grandfather! As he was escorted back to the dark and cold chamber by one of the older boys, he wondered bitterly why his grandfather did not rescue him from this hell. 

**********

A tall man with shoulder-length, raven hair and a hawk-like countenance was waiting in Lewiston's office when Tom was brought in. Lewiston appeared nervous in the stranger's company, and kept giving the man sidelong glances. 

"Er, this is Mr. Slytherin, your grandfather, boy." 

"Pleased to meet you, sir." 

"Come, let's get on with this," Slytherin said, gruffly. "I don't have all day." 

Tom followed the man outside the orphanage. He tried to keep up with the wizard's long strides. 

"Sir? Sir, where are we going?" 

"Diagon Alley," he replied, coldly. 

"Oh." 

Slytherin glanced neither left nor right as he walked briskly to their destination. 

"Sir? Are you really my grandfather?" 

Without warning, Slytherin swung around and grabbed Tom by the collar. Several passersby glanced oddly at Slytherin, but did not interfere, as it was none of their business. Slytherin roughly dragged Tom into a very narrow courtyard. 

"Listen, boy," he snarled. "If you had been born a witch, I wouldn't have wasted my valuable time and money on you. I am only doing this out of sense of duty, no more. I want our bloodline to continue despite the filth that has polluted it, no thanks to my wretched daughter. Don't ask more of me, boy, because you aren't going to get it." 

With that, he shoved the perplexed Tom back out onto the street. 

Eventually, they reached a pub called the Leaky Cauldron and walked inside. Tom observed a few of the patrons eying Slytherin nervously. Exiting the pub, they entered a small courtyard. Slytherin tapped on the brick wall with his wand. The wall dissolved into an archway leading into an entirely different alley. Tom's jaw dropped. 

"Stop gawking like an idiot, boy, and follow me." 

Slytherin rushed the bewildered and awed Tom from shop to shop to purchase his school supplies. He ignored all of Tom's questions and refused to slow down to allow Tom a decent time to really _look_. After purchasing most of the items on the list, Slytherin escorted Tom into a pub in Doubleback Alley for lunch. 

Displaying no concern or compassion, Slytherin watched Tom devour his meal ravenously as though he were starving, which indeed was the case. The boys at St. Cuthbert's Orphanage received the same, without deviation, unappetizing fare day after day. For breakfast, they had a small bowl of watered down porridge and a slice of dry, stale, or mouldy bread. For lunch, they were given dry, stale, or mouldy bread with often rancid butter and an orange or an apple. For supper, the meal consisted of broth; more dry, stale, or mouldy bread, and milk, often spoiled. 

This was the first wholesome and tasty meal he had ever had. He wished he could ask for more. Tom cleaned his plate of every morsel and crumb. When there was nothing left, he licked each of his fingers. 

"Are you done, boy?" 

Tom nodded his head. 

"Good. Need to get your wand." 

A few minutes later, they entered Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands. 

"Good afternoon, Mr. Slytherin. What can I do for you, today?" greeted a middle-aged appearing man with wide, pale eyes. 

"This boy needs a wand." 

"Is this Winona's child?" Ollivander gazed curiously at Tom. 

"Yes." 

"What a pity she died so young. I recall vividly the day you and Iris brought Winona in to purchase her wand. Emerald and dragon heartstring, twelve and three-quarters inches, it was." 

"Never mind the past," Slytherin said, dismissively. "Get on with it, Ollivander. My time is too precious to be wasted on your idle chatter." 

"Very well then," Ollivander said, eyeing Slytherin askance. "Which is your wand arm, Mister...?" 

"Riddle," Tom supplied, quietly. 

"Yes. Which is your wand arm?" 

Tom looked over at Slytherin for assistance. 

"Are you right or left handed, boy?" 

Feeling stupid, Tom replied, "Left." 

"Hold out your left arm, Mr. Riddle." 

Tom complied. 

Mr. Ollivander proceeded to take his measurements while explaining the craft of his wands to Tom. 

"Here, Mr. Riddle. Try this one. Oak and unicorn hair, ten and a half inches, flexible. Go on. Give it a wave." 

"No. That will not do," Ollivander said while snatching the wand from Tom's hand. 

"Give this one a try. Opal and dragon heartstring, sixteen inches, and springy." 

Before he could give it a wave, Ollivander grabbed the wand from him. 

After waving around a number of wands, Tom began to feel bored and foolish. 

"Erm, let's see...Why don't we give this one a go? Yew and phoenix feather, thirteen and a half inches, very powerful." 

Tom took the proffered wand. Suddenly, he felt an odd, tingling warmth race up the entire length of his arm. He raised the wand high above his head and brought it down in a grand arc. A stream of green and silver sparks shot out from its end. Feeling pleased, Tom smiled. 

"Yes!" Ollivander clapped his hands. "It looks like you are destined for greatness, Mr. Riddle. We shall all hear from you someday." 

Slytherin paid for the wand, and they left the shop. 

"Have to make one more stop before we go, boy." 

He then led Tom into Knockturn Alley where they entered Serpensortia. 

Once inside, Tom glanced around and noticed a number of containers holding a vast assortment of snakes. 

"How do you do, Drakonis?" said the shop's proprietor. 

"Fine. I need another runespoor. Do you have one?" 

"Yes. A shipment arrived yesterday." He turned and disappeared behind a curtained doorway. 

Tom moved closer to a large glass case, which housed a King Cobra. Its forked tongue flickering in and out of its mouth, the cobra slowly lifted its head and stared at Tom. 

"Hello, boy," someone whispered. 

Tom glanced around sharply to see who had spoken to him. He noted that the shop owner had returned, and was talking to Slytherin. Both were ignoring him. He began to question his sanity. 

"It isss I who ssspeakesss to you, boy." 

His heart leapt into his throat. The voice was coming from the cobra! He stared dumbfounded at the serpent. 

Moving closer to the container, with furtive glances toward Slytherin and the shop owner, Tom said, "You can talk." 

"Yesss, of courssse. All ssserpentsss can talk." 

"Indeed? I didn't know that. Then why do snakes allow themselves to be captured?" 

"Foolishhh, boy!" the cobra, hissed. "Think! We do not ssspeak Englishhh." 

"What? You must be! I understand you _perfectly_." 

"You underssstand me becaussse you ssspeak sssnake language." 

"I do not!" Tom said, indignantly. 

Thoroughly engrossed in their private conversation, Slytherin and the proprietor missed Tom's outburst. 

"Yesss, you do, boy. You're ssspeaking it now, or at leassst you were a moment ago." 

Sceptical, Tom replied, "It doesn't sound like I'm speaking snake language. It sounds like I'm speaking English!" 

"No, boy, you aren't. I don't know any Englishhh. I underssstand you becaussse you're ssspeaking my language. By the way, what'sss your name?" 

"Tom. Tom Riddle. What's yours?" 

"Alphonssso." 

"Oh. Er, nice to meet you, Mr. Alphonso." 

"Sssame here, Mr. Riddle." 

At that moment, Slytherin clapped a heavy, long-fingered hand on Tom's shoulder. He was carrying a small box punctured with air holes. 

"Come along, boy." 

"Goodbye, Mr. Riddle. Hope we meet again sssomeday." 

Tom grinned at the cobra. 

On the return trip to St. Cuthbert's Orphanage, Tom listened to what sounded like three snakes arguing inside the small parcel Slytherin was carrying. 

"I want to go home," said one, sadly. "I misss the sssavannah, the golden sssunsssets, impalasss, and wildebeessst." 

"Shhhut up, you!" another one hissed. "We're trapped in thisss dreadful cold and damp world, don't you sssee?" 

"I think we shhhould plan an essscape," said yet another one. 

"How?" one replied, irritably. 

The conversation went on and on in that vein. 

Tom pretended that he did not hear anything. He was afraid Slytherin would ridicule him if he knew he could speak to snakes. 

Approaching St. Cuthbert's, Slytherin spoke. "Your school supplies shall remain with me. It was the agreement I made with that foul Muggle. I will retrieve you when it is time for you to leave for Hogwarts." 

"Yes, sir." 

Then Tom asked the questions that had been burning inside him since he learned he had a grandfather. 

"Er, sir, what was my mother's full name? Where did my parents live? Where is my father?" 

"Your wretched mother's name was Winona Astrid Slytherin. She died bringing you into this world, boy." Then he icily added, "Don't ask any more questions." 

Tom thought, as he reached the steps of the orphanage, that Slytherin did not tell him what he did not already know, except his mother's full name. 

**********

On the platform, standing in front of a scarlet steam engine, Slytherin gave the grandson he refused to accept a few parting words of advice and instruction. 

"Don't make a fool of me, boy." 

"I won't, sir." 

Slytherin turned to leave. 

"Sir? Please, sir, can you tell me where my father is?" 

Coldly gazing down at him, Slytherin beckoned Tom to follow him to an area devoid of people. 

"I am going to say this only once, boy. 

"Your foolish mother betrayed her family's honour and reputation by marrying and having a child by a lowly commoner. Your father is a filthy, vile animal, a Muggle. By marrying such filth, your foolish mother ruined Slytherin's honour. She allowed our pure bloodline to be polluted with Muggle slime by consorting to have a child with a subhuman. 

"Your father has your namesake, Tom Riddle. You're contaminated, boy. You can _never_ be a true Slytherin. Your blood is tainted. For centuries, us Slytherins prided ourselves on our pure bloodline. Then that bitch who was my daughter destroyed everything by marrying an animal with zero magical blood in his foul veins. 

"We lived in Little Hangleton when she fell in love with that animal. Then she married Riddle against our wishes. We warned her! She left us with no alternative but to disown her. She went with that beast to London, where they lived for a short while. The vile vermin returned to Little Hangleton without my daughter. 

"Then we received a letter from Winona begging us to take her back into the family. She was pregnant with you, and alone. Riddle abandoned her when he discovered that she was a witch. She wanted to come home, needed money, and a place to stay. We burned her letters. 

"One day, we received a telegram from a Muggle orphanage stating that Winona had died giving birth, and asking if we would take the child from their hands. I refused to bring the impure, little bastard into my home. The telegram was destroyed. 

"A few years later, my wife committed suicide. She was still grieving over her lost daughter. 

"Your mother brought ruin to the Slytherin family. Salazar would turn over in his grave if he knew one of his descendants had sunk so low and allowed a filthy Muggle to pollute his bloodline. 

"Just by being, boy, you bring shame to the family. Looking at you galls my blood. All I can see is the bloody vermin my daughter married. You favour him too much. 

"Now, get out of my sight and onto that damn train, boy, before I take a mind to curse the very life from you." 

Tears stinging his eyes, Tom lugged his heavy trunk to the train without a backwards glance. With much difficulty and no assistance, he managed to heave the trunk into an empty compartment. 

Tom sat in a corner, by the window, so that he could watch the students climb onto the train. He wiped the sweat from his face and brushed the damp hair off his forehead. Tom did not remember ever seeing young girls up so close before. He only recalled seeing them from a distance. Also, he had never dreamed there were so many wizards and witches in existence. As he gazed upon parents sending off their children, he wondered what it would feel like to be embraced or kissed. No one had ever done that to him. _I wonder what it is like to have a mother_, he thought. 

His train of thought was broken by a girl of about thirteen years entering the compartment. 

"Do you mind?" she said, haughtily. 

Tom shook his head. 

A blonde boy about his age followed the girl into the compartment. On their heels, followed two girls and a boy. 

The girl who had spoken to Tom sat directly across from him. He stared at her in wonder. A girl, she was! So close, he could reach out and touch her if he wanted. She had sleek, whitish-blonde, shoulder-length hair; light grey eyes, and a pointy face. The boy who entered with the girl favoured her in looks, but his hair was slightly darker and his eyes were a denim shade of blue. He continued to avidly watch the girl, even as the train began to move and pick up speed. 

About five minutes into the trip, the girl finally noticed Tom's unwavering attention. 

"Weren't you ever taught that it is considered poor manners to stare?" she said, scornfully. 

Tom blushed and looked away. 

A girl with dark brown hair snickered. "He acts as though he has never seen a girl before." 

The red colouring in his face deepened as Tom began to feel angry.

"I think he fancies you, Rhiannon," said the girl with long, honey-blonde hair. 

"Oh, _please_, Winsome," Rhiannon retorted while rolling her eyes. 

The two boys glanced over at Tom and smirked. Tom attempted to ignore them, with fists clenched in anger. 

At some point during the ride, Tom fell asleep. Someone tugging on his arm woke him. His eyes flew open. 

"What?" he said, groggily. 

The blonde boy with denim blue eyes sitting beside him said, "Do you want anything?" 

He observed the dark haired girl selecting various items from a trolley. The girl gave several coins to the old witch pushing the food-laden cart. 

"Erm, I'm..." He was about to say that he was not hungry when his stomach betrayed him by growling audibly. 

"I'm not feeling very well. My stomach is a bit ill." 

"Oh," replied the blonde boy. 

Fighting back tears that threatened to spill, Tom turned to stare out the window. Hot, bitter resentment burned in his heart. Slytherin, uncaring, did not bother to give him a few measly coins to stave off his hunger pangs. The last meal he had consisted of watery porridge and a stale crust of bread. That was _hours_ ago. Now he was being deprived of lunch. He forced himself to return to sleep so that he would not have to feel the hunger pains tearing at his stomach. 

It was dark when he awoke, and the train was slowing down. 

The blonde boy, the only one who seemed willing to speak to him civilly, told him that he ought to put on his robe. 

**********

He and the other first years stood at the front of the Great Hall waiting to be sorted. Tom was still unclear about what this sorting ceremony was all about. Everything around him was strange and overwhelming. However, he much preferred this odd, wondrous place to the orphanage. Starving, he half-listened to the sorting. 

After some time, Tom finally heard his name called. He approached the stool and slowly picked up the patched and frayed hat. Tom sat down and then pulled it over his head. 

At first, there was nothing. Then he heard a sharp intake of breath. The Sorting Hat shrieked, 

"_SLYTHERIN_." 

Tom slowly walked toward the table where a number of students were hooting and clapping loudly. 

"Hullo," said Uthman Malfoy, the blonde boy who had sat next to him on the train. 

"Hello." 

The sorting ceremony tarried on a while longer, and then was followed by a short, inspiring speech by Headmaster Armando Dippet. By the end of Dippet's announcement, Tom was weak with hunger. 

He turned to face the table and witnessed the most food he had ever seen in his life in one place. He did not know where to start! There were meat dishes; roasted, baked, fried, and creamed potatoes; a variety of vegetables: steamed, baked, boiled, or fried; salads; different types of breads; soups, and stews. Uncaring what anyone thought of him, Tom voraciously sampled everything. The only items he bypassed were the soups. He was sick of soup. 

"I thought your stomach was ill," drawled Malfoy. 

Tom swallowed a piece of pork chop. "It's better now." 

"Oh." 

Then the puddings were served. Tom had ice cream; a treacle tart; a slice of apple and raspberry pie; a jelly-filled donut, and a chocolate éclair before he felt he would explode if he ate another morsel. 

**********

By mid-October, Tom still had not made any friends, even with the boys with whom he shared a room. His roommates maintained their distance. Lonely, he spent most of his time in the library or on his bed reading. Tom had already read Hogwarts, A History three times. Now he was studying Hogwarts' founding fathers. Tom was particularly interested in his ancestor. His teachers were fond of the handsome, quiet, polite boy who was eager to learn beyond what was assigned. 

**********

Malfoy, McKinley, Dougal, LaSalle, Baird, and Rudyard entered the first year boys' room as Tom was reading about the first of many disagreements between Slytherin and Gryffindor. LaSalle closed the door. 

"Tell us, Riddle, are you a Mudblood?" said Maximillian LaSalle. 

"A what?" 

"Are you a Mudblood?" repeated Cole Rudyard. 

"I don't know what that is." 

"Did you hear? He doesn't know what a Mudblood is," exclaimed Miles Dougal, incredulously. 

"A Mudblood is someone who is Muggle-born," answered Uthman Malfoy. "A witch or wizard born to Muggle parents." 

"We want to know if you're a filthy Mudblood," said Zephyrus Baird. 

"No." 

"I told you he wasn't," said Alvar McKinley, emphatically. 

"You aren't?" Uthman responded. 

"No. My mother was a witch." 

"What about your father?" 

Tom was quiet. 

"He was a filthy Muggle, wasn't he?" said Maximillian LaSalle. 

"Yes," he replied, ashamed. 

"Urgh!" exclaimed Cole Rudyard, an expression of distaste on his face. "I would kill myself if I had Muggle slime in my blood." 

"How could you be here, in Slytherin, with an animal for a father?" said Zephyrus Baird. 

"Salazar Slytherin is my ancestor," boasted Tom. 

"Liar," shouted Maximillian. 

"I'M NOT!" Tom leapt from his bed with an irrational burst of fury. 

"Slytherin wouldn't let Muggle swine into his family!" 

"I AM A SLYTHERIN!" 

"How?" Alvar McKinley said, quietly. 

"My grandfather is Drakonis Slytherin!" 

Stunned, the boys stared at Tom. 

"But, but," Miles Dougal faltered, "everyone knows Slytherins _hate_ Muggles. So, how could your _father_ be a filthy Muggle?" 

"My mother married one." 

"Urgh!" replied Zephyrus Baird, shaking his head at this travesty. 

"How could she? Didn't she have proper wizarding pride?" said Uthman, his lip curled up with disgust. 

"Did you ask your mum why she married an animal?" Alvar McKinley said. 

"No. She died before I could ask." 

"Oh." 

"She deserved it for marrying a filthy, vile Muggle," commented Cole Rudyard. 

Tom leapt onto Cole, knocking him flat onto the floor. Straddling Cole, he punched him in the face. 

"Don't you _ever_ say anything like that about my mother again!" Tom snarled. 

"Sorry," Cole said, contrite. He saw something in Tom's eyes that he did not care for. 

Tom stood up. 

"What about your father?" said Miles. 

"What about him?" he snapped. 

"Where _is_ he?" said Uthman impatiently. 

"I don't know." 

"You don't _know_?" 

"No. I don't care either. I hate him." 

"He's your father, though," responded Alvar. 

"So? He's a filthy Muggle, isn't he? He abandoned my mother and me because she was a witch. It's _his_ fault that she's dead." Tom omitted that he blamed his father for being raised in a Muggle orphanage. He did not want them to know he lived in St. Cuthbert's. 

Alvar shrugged his shoulders. 

"Let's vote," said Maximillian. "Should we let him in as part of our group?" 

"I don't know," replied Zephyrus. "How do we know he isn't _pretending_ not to like Muggles?" 

"I'm not!" 

"Then swear allegiance to Lord Grindelwald!" 

"_Who_?" Tom frowned. 

"Crickey! He doesn't even know who Lord Grindelwald is! Where have you been? Living with Muggles?" said Uthman. 

His face reddened. "Why don't you just tell me who he is?" 

"Lord Grindelwald is going to rid the magical world of those who aren't pure and of those who don't have proper wizarding pride," answered Cole. 

"Oh." 

"So, do you swear eternal allegiance to Lord Grindelwald?" said Alvar. 

Tom shrugged. "Yes." 

Miles turned to Zephyrus. "I say we should let him in." 

"Me, too," said Alvar. 

"Count me in," Uthman said. 

Cole and Maximillian reluctantly agreed. 

"What about you?" Uthman said to Zephyrus. 

He shrugged. "All right." 

By the end of November, Tom's close friends were Uthman, Alvar, and Miles. 

**********

During the Christmas holidays, Tom was the only Slytherin who remained at Hogwarts. He used the time alone to explore the castle and to find out more about Salazar Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets. Tom desperately wanted to be a proper Slytherin. He wished that his mother had never set eyes on his Muggle father. Sometimes he hated her. It was her fault he was not pureblood. Tom hated the very idea of being part Muggle, and felt inferior around his pureblood friends. He despised the Muggle in him. _Maybe I can reopen the Chamber of Secrets to continue Salazar's work_, he thought, _to rid Hogwarts of Mudbloods_. 

He also utilized the time to make a foray into the girls' dormitory to steal coins that happened to be lying about in the rooms. His search netted three Galleons, ten Sickles, and thirty-two Knuts. He did not want to return on the Hogwarts Express without money to purchase food. 

**********

Tom awoke in the empty room feeling angry and depressed. He hated his life. Uthman, Alvar, Miles, and the rest of the boys were enjoying Christmas with their families. He wished that he had a mother and father to go home to, parents who would want him. It hurt him grievously that his grandfather rejected him. Tom wished bitterly that he were pureblood, that he did not have to grow up in a Muggle orphanage. 

He rose from his bed and walked over to the cage that housed Cole's pet rat, Pip. For a half hour, Tom watched, as one transfixed, Pip scuttle around shredding parchment. With a glazed, remote look in his eyes, Tom reached into the cage and removed the rat. Pip squeaked a few times and sniffed at Tom's unusually long fingers. 

Tom wrapped his fingers around the rat's body for a better grip. Then he began to squeeze. Pip squealed and struggled in his hand. Frantic, the rat bit at Tom's fingers as he compressed the life from it. Tom, detached, used both hands to strangle Pip. He ignored the pain as the rat shredded his skin. Pip's eyes bulged grotesquely from its head. Suddenly, blood squirted from the rodent's mouth, nose, ears, and rear end. Tom's fingers dug into the rat's flesh. Then he dropped the rodent onto the floor and methodically stamped on it until it was a gory pulp. 

Cole returned from the Christmas holidays to discover that his cherished Pip had escaped from its cage never to be found. 

**********

Tom, Uthman, Alvar, and Miles were grouped around a table in the Slytherin common room working on their Dark Arts assignment. Dark Arts was Tom's favourite lesson after Transfiguration and Potions. He did not particularly care for Dumbledore, the Transfiguration professor. Unlike his other teachers, Dumbledore seemed a little cool towards him. Tom did not understand Dumbledore's behaviour. He made it a special point to be polite to all of his professors. Always, Tom made an effort to smile and compliment his teachers; even though, he secretly distrusted all authority figures and held them in contempt. 

At this moment, the Hogwarts professors were not on his mind. Tom, a few weeks ago, learned that his ancestor, the great Salazar Slytherin, was able to communicate with snakes. He discovered that the term for those who had this rare and amazing gift was Parselmouth. _I am a Parselmouth and the heir of Salazar Slytherin_, Tom said to himself. Tom was debating whether or not he should share this information with his chums. It would prove to them that he was a true Slytherin, despite the contamination in his blood. 

"I have a secret," he said in a low voice. 

"What is it?" replied Alvar. 

"You must promise you will not tell anyone." 

"All right," the three boys chorused. 

He stared at them for a brief moment. "If you break your promise, I'll hurt you." 

Tom then took a deep breath and blurted out, "I'm a Parselmouth." 

"You're joking!" exclaimed Miles. 

"I'm not. I found out last summer while visiting Serpensortia." 

They stared at him with their mouths agape. 

"If we found a snake, you would be able to speak to it?" said Uthman, amazed. 

"Yes." 

"_Excuse me_," Rhiannon Malfoy said, haughtily. Nanna and Winsome, her best friends, flanked her. 

"I apologise for interrupting you little boys." She glanced at Tom with utter disdain. "I'm sure you four think that your little conversation is important, but it isn't. Mine is. 

"Mahnnie," she said, turning to her brother, "Mother wants to know why you are asking for more money." 

Uthman's eyes darted fleetingly over to Tom. "Erm, I lost mine somehow. I don't know what happened to it." 

She rolled her eyes and said, "Really. If you're going to be so careless about your money, Uthman, then perhaps Mother and Father shouldn't send you any." 

"Rhian, just tell Mother I lost mine and need more. Please?" 

Rhiannon sighed. "All right." 

Then she turned and left with her friends. 

Tom watched her go with his hands clenched so tightly into fists that his fingernails pierced the skin of his palms. He had an overwhelming desire to destroy Rhiannon's pretty, aloof face. 

"Tom," Alvar said, "if we found a snake, would you show us?" 

He returned his attention to his chums. 

"You don't have to find one." 

"What do you mean?" said Miles. "You need a snake to speak to." 

"Yes, but you don't have to _find _one, stupid. I can conjure one up." 

"How?" said Uthman. 

"Come to our room and I'll show you. Hurry before Max, Cole, and Zephyrus return." 

Once in the room, Tom closed and locked the door. 

"I learned this from a book in the Dark Arts section. Watch." 

He pulled out his wand, pointed it to the opposite side of the room, and said, "_Serpensortia_." 

A large, green snake with red eyes appeared. 

Uthman, Alvar, and Miles screamed, grabbed one another, and prepared to escape. 

Tom rounded on them with his wand pointed at the three boys. "Shut up! Don't any of you leave this room." 

The snake was rapidly uncoiling itself and slithering toward the boys. 

"Stop," Tom calmly ordered the snake. 

Hissing and spitting, the snake halted its movement. "Why?" it said. 

"Because I command you." 

"No one commandsss me!" 

"I conjured you up, and I can just as easily send you back." 

"What would you sssay, boy, if I desssided to sssink my fangsss into your neck?" 

"You wouldn't dare." 

"Indeed I would!" 

The snake then made a swift movement towards Tom. Before it could reach him, he waved his wand and the serpent disappeared in a puff of green smoke. 

Uthman, Alvar, and Miles huddled against the door with identical expressions of terror on their faces. 

"See? I told you. I'm the heir of Slytherin." 

**********

He dreaded returning to the orphanage. The mere thought was enough to cause him to lose his appetite. Tom knew he had to eat something on the train because it would be his last decent meal for a while. 

"Tom, are you all right?" said Alvar. 

"Yes." 

"Then why don't you want to play with us?" Uthman said. 

"I'm tired." 

"Oh." 

He returned to staring out the window, with black despair filling his heart. 

**********

"You'll have to leave your school things with me, boy. You'll get them back when I see you next." 

"But...but, _sir_, a few of the professors gave me assignments for the summer," Tom told Drakonis Slytherin in alarm. 

"That should teach you a lesson, boy. Next time, complete your assignments on the train." 

Hurt and anger welled up in his chest. God, he hated himself for being part Muggle. He wished that he had been born a proper, pureblood wizard like his grandfather and Hogwarts chums. 

When Tom arrived at the orphanage, he was told that he was being moved to the older boys' ward. Before he joined his new companions, Tom would spend a fortnight in Solitary. He spent the first two weeks of the summer holidays in a cold, dark cell in which he received only a cup of water and a stale crust of bread each day. He wished he were back at Hogwarts. 

**~~~~~~**

_(1)J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and The Sorcerer's Stone, (Scholastic Press, 1998), p51. _

_(2)J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and The Sorcerer's Stone, (Scholastic Press, 1998), p51. _


	3. Wings Unfurled

_**Warning**: Rape and murder ahead._

_**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter ideas, characters, and places do not belong to me. They belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Brothers._

**~~~~~~**

_**Immortalis Dominus Dominatus**_

**Part I: _Alpha_**

by Auror5

**~~~~~~**

**Chapter II: Wings Unfurled**

**... 1938 ...**

Drakonis Slytherin arrived at St. Cuthbert's to take the grandson he denied to Diagon Alley to purchase school supplies for his second year at Hogwarts. Slytherin made no comment about the bruises on Tom's face. He expressed no concern over the fact that Tom was limping and appeared quite ill. Tom had been beaten for displaying disrespect to authority. He caught a nasty respiratory infection while lying naked on the cold floor in Solitary. 

He made no effort to slow his walk on Tom's behalf. Tired and weak, Tom struggled to keep pace with Slytherin's long strides. By the time they reached Diagon Alley, he was sweating profusely with exertion. His lungs hurt and his throat was raw from coughing. 

"Hurry up, boy!" Slytherin snapped as they entered Serpensortia. 

_I hate him_, he thought. _One day...._

"Afternoon, Drakonis. Back so soon?" 

"The bloody runespoors keep killing themselves," growled Slytherin. 

Tom collapsed on a stool near the door to catch his breath. 

"Is the lad all right?" The shop owner inquired with concern. "Doesn't look too well, that one." 

"He'll be fine." Drakonis waved his hand dismissively. "I need two hatched runespoors and five eggs." 

"I'll go get them. They're in the back." He went behind a curtained doorway. 

"When we leave here, boy, we'll go to Flourish and Blotts to pick up your textbooks, first." 

The idea of another long walk in his condition was not appealing. A sinking sensation settled into his stomach. 

"Please, sir, may I remain here for a little bit? I really do feel ill." 

"Very well then," replied Slytherin with emotional detachment. "I'll return here after Flourish and Blotts to take you over to Madam Malkin's for a new robe. I swear, boy, at the rate you're growing you will need a new robe each year. I expect you to pay me back in full for my generosity." 

The proprietor returned carrying a parcel. "Here we are." 

"Hold those for me until I get back. The boy will remain here while I purchase his books." 

"All right." The shopkeeper peered at Tom. "He does appear feverish." 

Tom wondered bitterly whether Slytherin would ever refer to him by his name. 

After Slytherin left the shop, the proprietor extended his hand and said, "I'm Kieran O'Sullivan." 

Tom shook O'Sullivan's hand and said, "Hullo," while experiencing some difficulty breathing. 

"What's your name, lad?" 

"Tom. Tom Riddle." 

"Come. Follow me, Tom. I think I can help you." 

Tom rose from the stool and followed O'Sullivan behind the counter and through the curtained doorway. They entered a spacious and neatly organised room. 

"Here, have a seat." 

Tom sat on a pouf while O'Sullivan went into an adjoining room. He wondered just how large the shop was. It appeared small from the outside. 

O'Sullivan returned with a steaming goblet. "Drink this." 

With a brief hesitation, Tom took the goblet. 

"Go on, lad. Drink it. It'll fix you right up. I'm surprised Drakonis didn't think of it." 

_I'm not_, Tom thought. 

Tom brought the cup to his lips, and drank quickly and deeply. 

"Ah, very good," said O'Sullivan taking the goblet from him. 

Tom felt warmth coursing through his body, immediately followed by an overwhelming drowsiness. 

"What, what have you done to me?" he said thickly while beginning to topple off the pouf. 

"Never mind, lad." 

He felt himself being lifted. Then it was dark for a while. 

Tom awoke and found himself on a comfortable bed in a small room. He slowly took in his surroundings. The first thing he realised was that he felt immensely better. He sat up, and spotted a note on the door. 

_ Tom,_

_ Went to Borgin and Burkes across the way. Will be back in a few minutes._

_ O'Sullivan_

Tom pushed back the blankets and swung his feet off the bed. O'Sullivan had removed his ill-fitting shoes. 

About thirty seconds later, he was in the customer area of the shop. 

"Hello, Mr. Riddle." 

"Alphonso? Alphonso!" Tom ran over to the container holding a King Cobra. 

"You're still here!" 

"Yesss, I am. I would have ssspoken to you earlier, but you did not ssseem well. You look muchhh better now." 

"O'Sullivan gave me a potion that cured me." 

"O'Sssulivan is a good man. How did you come by the bruisssesss, Mr. Riddle?" 

"Tom." 

"Very well. Tom." 

"At the Muggle orphanage, where I live when I'm not in school. I was beat for calling Krupp an f---ing, filthy Muggle." 

"It would ssseem that they did a very thorough job." 

Tom shrugged. "I cannot wait to return to Hogwarts." 

"When do you return?" 

"In less than a fortnight. I made some close friends while I was there: Uthman, Alvar, and Miles. They're my favourites." 

"I am glad to hear it, Tom." 

"I was sorted into Slytherin. Our house crest is a serpent." 

"That'sss exssscellent." 

"Aye." Then he paused. "I wish I had enough money to buy you, Alphonso. I don't have anyone else to talk to when I'm not at Hogwarts. The Muggle boys in the orphanage aren't allowed to speak to me." 

"Why not?" 

"Because the animal that runs the orphanage forbade them to. I'm supposedly Satan's spawn." He added, darkly, "I would like to kill them. _All_ Muggles should be destroyed, I think." 

"Why do you sssay that?" 

"Muggles aren't really human. They're beneath us, lower than beasts." 

"Yesss. You could kill them if you like, Tom. Jussst ussse your magic." 

"I wish I could. That bloody Slytherin won't let me take any of my school things with me to the orphanage, not even my wand." 

"That'sss too bad. I wissshhh I could help you. Perhapsss.…" 

"Sweet Morgana! You're a Parselmouth!" 

Tom and Alphonso jumped at the sound of O'Sullivan's voice. They were so engrossed in their conversation that they did not hear him when he re-entered the shop. 

"You're a Parselmouth," O'Sullivan repeated in awe. He stared at Tom as though he were viewing him in an entirely different light. 

The door opened and Slytherin stepped in. 

"Drakonis, did you know that this lad was a Parselmouth?" 

"What?" 

"A _Parselmouth_. I walked in and saw him conversing with this cobra." 

"Are you bluffing me, Kieran? I don't have time for petty games." 

"No. I'll prove it. Go on, Tom. Talk to it." 

Tom hesitated. 

"Go on, lad," O'Sullivan said, gently. 

Tom turned to Alphonso. "O'Sullivan wants me to talk to you, to convince Slytherin that I can speak to snakes." 

"What doesss he want usss to ssspeak of?" 

Tom shrugged. 

"Did you see that? I _told_ you, Drakonis. The lad's a Parselmouth." 

Slytherin stood for a moment staring at Tom with a calculating expression on his face. "Congratulations, boy. You have a rare talent." 

Tom thought, _I already know that_. 

For a brief period, the three wizards stood in awkward silence. 

"Come, boy. Need to get the rest of your school supplies." 

O'Sullivan handed the earlier purchased package to Slytherin before they left the shop. 

Tom turned to Alphonso. "Goodbye. I hope to see you next year." 

"Farewell, Tom. I hope to sssee you again. Good luck at Hogwartsss." 

"Thanks." 

That was the last time he ever saw Alphonso. 

Tom hurriedly caught up with Slytherin. 

Slytherin turned to glance down at Tom. "I see your health is better, boy." 

** ********

On the platform, in front of the Hogwarts Express, Slytherin reached into his cloak and pulled out a dragon-hide covered booklet. 

"Here, take this. I have no use for it." 

Tom took the small book. 

"It's your mother's memoirs." 

Then he surprised Tom by carrying his trunk onto the train. As Slytherin was leaving the compartment, Uthman Malfoy entered. 

"Hullo, Mr. Slytherin." 

"Malfoy," he nodded, and left. 

Tom immediately began to rummage in his trunk to locate his books for Transfiguration, Herbology, Potions, and History of Magic. He ignored his strong desire to read his mother's diary. 

"What are you doing?" said Alvar McKinley to Tom as he entered the compartment. 

"Hullo. I have to finish my summer assignment before we arrive at Hogwarts." 

"_What_?" said Uthman incredulous. "_Why_ didn't you do it during the summer holidays?" 

"Forgot about it," he lied. 

"You better start then," suggested Alvar. 

"Hullo, Uthman, Tom, and Alvar," greeted Miles Dougal. 

"Hello," the boys responded. 

About an hour into the trip, Miles said, "Er, Tom, is it true that you live in a Muggle orphanage?" 

Tom glanced up sharply from his Transfiguration assignment. 

"Who told you that?" 

Miles looked over to Uthman and Alvar for assistance. 

Uthman piped up, "Your grandfather. We sent owls to your grandfather's during the holidays. We wondered why you ignored our letters, so I asked your grandfather about it. He told me that you didn't live with him, but in a Muggle orphanage." 

"Why don't you live with your grandfather?" said Miles. 

"Never mind where he lives," said Alvar, the most perceptive of Tom's three close friends. "He's still our chum, eh?" 

Uthman and Miles nodded their heads. 

"Let him finish his homework," ordered Alvar. 

Tom stared briefly at Alvar, a small boy with dark red hair and vivid blue eyes. Then he resumed working on Dumbledore's assignment. 

Tom succeeded in completing his assignments before the train reached Hogwarts. He regretted that he did not have time to read his mother's diary. He decided to wait until he was in bed to attempt to read it. Alas, he fell asleep exhausted after the feast, the thought of his mother's memoirs temporarily forgotten. 

** ********

The following day, after supper, Tom went to the second year boys' room to read his mother's diary while his friends entertained themselves with wizard chess in the common room. 

He reached into his trunk, grabbed the journal, and flung himself onto the bed. The first page proclaimed, "Property of Winona Slytherin." He flipped to the first entry dated 30 April 1916. 

--- 

_ My name is Winona Astrid Slytherin. I turned nine on the 27th of April. Mother gave this diury to me for my birthday. I live in Little Hangleton with Father and Mother. We have 1 kneezul, 5 roonspores, a crup, and 2 owls. My best friend is Virginia. She's a muggul. Her brother Lloyd is a soljer in a war. Father said that Virginia oughtn't be my friend because mugguls are filthy. Virginia takes a bath every day. She smells nice and her dresses and hair are always proper and neat. I don't think she's filthy._

--- 

He turned a page and saw an animated photograph that would have surprised him if he had seen it the previous year. The picture featured a man, woman, and an infant. He recognised the tall, jet-black haired man as his grandfather. The woman had to be his grandmother. A chubby baby was cradled in her arms. A caption below stated, "Father, Mother, and me." 

The next page showed an image of a very pretty girl with long, black ringlets and midnight blue eyes holding a broom. Tom stared at the girl who was his mother. Smiling, she waved a few times and then hopped onto the broom. She kicked off and exited the picture. A moment later, she returned beaming. The entry below the photograph read, "Me and my Silver Arrow." 

Another picture showed the nine-year-old Winona being hugged and kissed by her mother while a green and white striped cat with a lion's tail prowled nearby. Following that one was a photo of a grinning Winona with her arms wrapped around her father. 

Tom began to feel resentful towards his mother. 

--- 

_ 22 October 1918_

_ I love Hogwarts! I've been sorted in Slytherin. That makes sense because I'm a Slytherin. Father would've died of shame if I were in any of the other houses. Salazar Slytherin is one of the founders of Hogwarts and my many greats great-grandfather. My best friends are Kyla and Nellie. I miss Virginia. My favourite lessons are Charms and Transfiguration._

--- 

There was a photograph of his mother sitting with two girls by the lake. They smiled and waved at him. The caption below stated, "Kyla, me, and Nellie." 

Tom traced the outline of his mother's face with his finger. She was the prettiest girl he had ever seen, much prettier than Rhiannon Malfoy who was always snubbing him. 

--- 

_ 15 February 1922_

_ I found out today from Kyla who heard it from Violet who said that she heard Beatrice tell Nadia that William Arlington fancies ME. The most handsome boy in Hogwarts likes me! Now, I don't know how to behave in his presence. I do not wish for him to think I am an improper girl._

_ Winnie loves William_

--- 

Tom turned the page and gazed upon a portrait that snatched his breath away. God, his mother was beautiful! A teenaged girl with jet-black hair like his, glossy ringlets, rose-tinted cheeks, dark blue eyes full of mischief, and an enigmatic smile stared out at him. 

"Mother," he whispered in awe. 

Ensnared by the lovely image of his mother, he lost track of time. Eventually, he snapped out of the spell, shook his head, and finished reading the rest of the diary. 

He read about the cherished grandfather who died just before she turned seven years old, her intimate friends, the boys she loved at some time or another, her lessons, parties, Quidditch, her parents, her pets, and her dreams. Tom read about his Muggle father, whom his mother had met one summer while buying fruit in Little Hangleton. He read about how she had instantly fallen in love with him, how sweet he was, how much wealth his family had, and how handsome he was. There was a Muggle photo of his father bound to one of the pages with Spellotape. The black and white picture depicted a handsome man with a charming, winning smile. Tom stared at his father with malevolence. He wished he could reach through the image against time and space to curse him. 

His mother's last entry was written in a shaky hand about a row she had with her parents over the acceptance of Tom Riddle's marriage proposal. 

Tom wondered if his father still lived in Little Hangleton. He blamed his beautiful mother's death solely on his vile, Muggle father. 

** ********

He reread his mother's diary numerous times during the following months, memorizing her words and her face. Sometimes he hated her for falling in love with a filthy Muggle, and for dying. He wondered what it would have been like to have her love. 

** ********

"Mr. Riddle, what are you doing in this murky library on a Saturday? Shouldn't you be out cheering your fellow Slytherins on the Quidditch pitch?" 

Tom concealed the bright spark of irritation that flared up in him behind a congenial mask. He then glanced up at Professor Dumbledore. "I want to catch up on my studies, sir." 

"Indeed? You're at the top of your year, Mr. Riddle. Perhaps you should take a break from studying and enjoy a rousing game of Quidditch." 

Tom made no reply, but thought, _Why don't you leave me be, you bloody arse?_

"May I ask what you are reading?" 

_No._

"Yes, sir." Tom picked up the book and presented its cover to Dumbledore. 

"Ah, Wizardry and Serpents: A Guide to Befriending Deadly Reptiles," exclaimed Dumbledore, and then he appeared to study Tom closely. "Do you desire to communicate with serpents, Mr. Riddle?" 

"No, sir. Professor Falcon mentioned this book in lessons one day. It sounded interesting to me," he lied. 

Dumbledore stared at Tom with an unreadable expression on his face. "Then I shall leave you to your reading." 

Tom glared at Dumbledore's receding back. After the professor with the waist-length, auburn hair left the library, Tom returned to the book. 

** ********

Alvar murmured, "There he is," to Tom, Uthman, and Miles. "He's a Mudblood." 

Tom stared at the curly, blonde haired Gryffindor. The Slytherins and Gryffindors had Herbology together. 

"I have an idea," said Tom before lessons began. 

"What?" Miles responded. 

"Let's get close to him." 

"What do we want to do that for?" replied Uthman watching the Gryffindor with loathing on his face. 

"You'll find out. Just follow me." 

Alvar, Uthman, and Miles followed Tom over to where the Gryffindor was seated. 

"Hello," said Tom in an ingratiatingly friendly voice and with a winning smile on his face. "What's your name?" 

The boy looked at Tom with surprise. "Patrick. Patrick Edgewood." 

"Pleased to meet you. I'm Tom Riddle. These are my friends: Alvar McKinley, Uthman Malfoy, and Miles Dougal." 

Uthman, Alvar, and Miles muttered greetings to Edgewood with barely disguised hostility. 

"You don't mind if we join you at this table, d'you?" 

"No." 

"Now, now, everyone please settle down," said Professor Stemm. "I want one of you from each table to come up here and pick up a flobuncle." 

Uthman leapt from his chair to retrieve the odd plant for their group. When he returned, he placed it on the centre of the table. It was a revolting appearing herb with large, yellowish-green petals and a bulbous, pulsating, blood red centre. 

"The flobuncle is a very useful herb," proclaimed Professor Stemm. "It is used to treat burns. The diluted liquid in the centre is used to heal burnt skin while the petals, with their cooling and soothing properties, are used to cover the burn as it heals. 

"In today's lesson, you will carefully remove the petals and place them in the specially coated box on your table. Once you have completed that task, you will very carefully slice open the centre to extract the liquid inside and pour it into the large phial. I want to emphasize that the liquid inside the flobuncle is under pressure. If you are too hasty in slicing the centre open, the undiluted liquid will squirt on someone nearby. Undiluted flobuncle liquid is exceedingly painful. So, be careful, students." 

Tom, Alvar, Uthman, Miles, and Edgewood quietly removed the petals from the flobuncle. After the task was completed, Tom suggested that Alvar be the one to extract the liquid. 

"Go on, Alvar," Tom prodded. He then gazed steadily into Alvar's eyes. "Slice it open, but be careful. Remember what Professor Stemm said," he added meaningfully. 

With a wicked gleam in his eyes, Alvar picked up the cutting instrument. Edgewood was seated across from Alvar and looking down at his notes. 

"Now, Alvar," said Tom quietly. 

Edgewood glanced up at the same time as Alvar thoughtlessly slashed the flobuncle's centre. Clear liquid jetted out and splashed directly onto Edgewood's face. Edgewood shrieked as the flobuncle's essence burned into his skin. His face swelled rapidly and became discoloured. Edgewood staggered around wildly while tearing at his face with his fingernails. 

"Oh dear," Professor Stemm shouted in alarm as she ran over to assist Edgewood. "No, don't scratch your face! It will make it worse!" She attempted to pin Edgewood's arms to his sides as the Muggle-born shrieked and his body flailed. His face was barely recognisable. 

Most of the students watched the scene in horror. Alvar, Uthman, and Miles smirked at Edgewood's torment. Tom watched as though he were viewing the results of a successful experiment. 

"One of you boys, _please_ hand me some petals. Quick!" ordered Professor Stemm. 

Reluctantly, Uthman gave a few petals to Professor Stemm. She placed them on Edgewood's face. His shrieks degenerated into hoarse sobs. 

"Malfoy, I need a few more." 

Uthman sighed and handed the professor several more petals. 

Edgewood's sobs quieted into whimpers. 

"Could one of you escort Mr. Edgewood to the hospital wing?" 

"I'll do it, Professor," Tom volunteered. 

Professor Stemm beamed at him. "Thank you, Mr. Riddle." 

"Come on." He placed his arm around Edgewood's shoulders and directed him to the door of the greenhouse. "That really hurt, didn't it?" 

Edgewood only moaned in response to Tom's question. 

** ********

The Christmas holiday arrived and found Tom the only Slytherin left in the house again. He found the lack of companionship depressing, and felt as though he had been abandoned. Tom hated the Christmas holiday. It made him dwell on the things he would never receive and on the things that would be part of him forever. How he hated Christmas! He wished it could be rescinded. The depression left him bereft and full of self-loathing. So, he visited the Owlery. 

The Owlery was quite cold that morning. There were only about dozen owls left. The rest had flown off to join their owners in the season's festivities. Tom pulled out his wand, pointed it at each bird in turn, and said, "_Stupefy_." This was another trick he did not learn in his lessons. The owls toppled off their perches and onto the floor. Tom gathered and placed them in a queue before him. He counted thirteen owls. _Good_, he thought. _A lucky number._

He began to mutilate one bird at a time. Tom used a severing charm to remove their limbs, wings, beaks, eyes, and heads. He saved the best for last: a large barn owl. Kneeling on the chaff and bird excrement littered floor, Tom snapped the bones in the bird's wings with his bare hands. Then he used his thumb to pluck the eyes from the owl's head. Slicing open the bird's torso, he removed its organs and flung them across the circular room. A pleasurable sensation washed over him as he destroyed the bird until it was no longer recognised as such. Tom threw back his head and laughed for the first time in eight years. His laugh was peculiar. 

Later, the Headmaster and the Heads of Houses would be appalled over the wanton destruction of fine, loyal birds. Not one of them would have any idea who could possibly have carried out such a deed. 

** ********

"Jordan, what do you know of pain?" 

"What?" 

Tom had made friends with Jordan Towshipp of Ravenclaw, a fellow second year, during the Christmas holiday. They were in the deserted Ravenclaw common room before the fire. In a few days, the horde would return. Tom was stretched out on the floor supine with his hands clasped behind his head. 

"What do you know of pain? D'you think beasts can tolerate more pain than humans?" 

Towshipp thought for a moment. "I think beasts and humans tolerate pain equally. Beasts just show it differently. Humans make more noise, screaming and such. But, I think, if you placed a gnome and a human in the fire, they would feel the same pain." 

Without warning and with seemingly inhuman speed, Tom grabbed Towshipp by his long, brown hair and pulled him dangerously close to the flames. 

Fear on his face, Towshipp choked out, "What are you _doing_? Tom, _gerroff me_!" 

He let go of Towshipp. 

Towshipp sat up while warily watching Tom. Then he said, with anger and hurt, "What did you do that for?" 

"I wanted to see how much noise you would make." 

** ********

One day, at breakfast, an owl landed in front of Tom with a pink piece of parchment embroidered with lace in its beak. Tom peered at it suspiciously. 

Maximillian LaSalle laughed. "_Oooh_, Tommy has a _valentine_." 

Tom scowled at Max and retrieved the parchment in the shape of a heart from the owl. It was the first time he had ever received anything from anyone while at Hogwarts. 

He read it while Uthman and Miles looked over his shoulders. 

_ Tom, your hair is as black as midnight._

_ I would like to run my hands through it in the sunlight._

_ Tom, your eyes are so dreamy._

_ I love them so much, and I think your skin is creamy._

_ Tom, please be mine._

_ If you agree, I'll meet you by the lake at nine._

Miles and Uthman burst into gales of laughter. 

Uthman, face red with mirth, choked out, "Tommy, your eyes are so _dreamy_." 

"Shut up." 

Tom glanced around the Slytherin table. He spotted Cynthia Darkling and Skye Amberidge, fellow second years, staring at him and giggling behind their hands. As he watched the girls, Skye blushed and turned her head. 

His friends continued to laugh as Tom stood up and proceeded to leave the Great Hall. 

"Oi, Tommy! I'll meet you at the lake at _nine_," Miles called out to Tom's swiftly receding back. 

** ********

"Alvar, come here. I have something to tell you." 

Alvar rose from the chair he was sitting on in the Slytherin common room and walked over to where Tom was standing. 

"What?" 

"Let's go in the room. Quick, before the rest notices that we are missing." 

They ran downstairs to the boys' dormitory. Tom closed the door behind them after they entered the room. 

"I think I have a way for us to beat the Gryffindors, tomorrow." 

"Really? How?" said Alvar with interest. 

Alvar was the Seeker for the Slytherin team. The Gryffindors were their eternal rivals, and the Slytherins hoped to win the Quidditch match against them. 

"The Gryffindors don't have a backup Seeker." 

"Yes, I know." 

"To win the game, all you have to do is take Garrett out." 

Alvar scowled and sarcastically replied, "And how am I supposed to do that, Tom?" 

"Set her on fire." 

Alvar snorted. "Really? How am I supposed to do that? Besides, if I set her on fire, _we_ would lose. That would be a _major_ foul." 

"You can get away with it." 

"And I keep asking you _how_, stupid." 

Tom shoved him against the wall. "Don't call me stupid, Alvar. D'you want to win this match or not?" 

"Yes, and I'm _sorry_," whined the boy who was small for his age. "Just tell me how." 

Tom reached into his robe and pulled out a tiny, ordinary appearing pebble. 

"Take this." 

"How is a weensy rock going to help us win?" 

"When no one is paying attention, throw it at Garrett. Make sure it hits her robe. I've placed a hex on it. Trust me, Alvar. It will take her out of the game." 

"All right. It _better _work. We have to win this game. If we win, we'll be in the running for the Quidditch Cup." 

"And the House Cup." 

Slytherin won the Quidditch match against Gryffindor. About a quarter of the way into the game, Priscilla Garrett inexplicably burst into flames and was rushed to the hospital wing with third degree burns over much of her body. The only reserve player on the Gryffindor team was a Beater. It was the worst defeat the Gryffindors had seen in years. No one could explain how poor Garrett managed to spontaneously combust. It was the first Quidditch game Tom had ever attended, and he enjoyed it immensely. 

** ********

He waited until everyone had left the room and then meekly went up to the Potion professor's desk. 

"What can I do for you, Mr. Riddle?" said Professor Allkimee with a smile on her face. Tom Riddle was her favourite pupil. She thought that he made the rest of the students in her class appear dull in comparison. 

"Professor, I was wondering if you would give me permission to take out a book in the restricted section. Please?" 

"Let me see. Which book are you interested in?" 

Tom handed her a slip of parchment. 

Professor Allkimee arched her perfect eyebrows. "For Purebloods, Only: How To Prevent the Future Demise of Hogwarts by Salazar Slytherin. Hmm, I'm not sure of this, Mr. Riddle. This book is, erm, quite _virulent_. Do you understand? No, I cannot authorize this." She returned the permission slip to him. 

A spark of fury flared in him at her refusal and he fought to quell it. 

With mock sadness on his face, he said, "Please, Professor. I really do need that book. I know it probably has loads of hateful stuff in it about Muggles, but I don't feel that way about them. Can I tell you a secret?" 

"Sure," she replied kindly, starting to rethink her position. 

"You promise you will not tell anyone?" 

"I promise." 

Tom sighed heavily. "I live with Muggles. My father is a Muggle, and I love him dearly. Sometimes it's hard for me being a Slytherin. The older students tease me and call me Mudblood sometimes." 

"Oh, you poor dear! I had no idea! Does Professor Falcon know about this?" 

"No, ma'am. You're the only adult I've told. Please don't tell anyone! _Please_, Professor," he implored. "It would make things worse for me. It's really hard being Muggle-born in Slytherin. They all _hate_ Muggles. I just wanted to read the book to see how their sort thinks. That way when they insult me, I could fight back. _Please_, Professor, I _need_ that book. It's the only way I can stand up for myself." 

She stared at the handsome, dark-haired boy who was slightly tall for his age with compassion. "All right, dear. I will grant you permission to read this hateful book." 

She took the parchment from Tom and signed it. 

"Thank you, Professor!" Tom said, flashing a charming smile at her. 

Professor Allkimee thought to herself that the girls would be throwing themselves at Riddle in a few years, and sighed. 

"Tom, please let me know if those Slytherins become too abusive." 

"All right. Thanks!" He grinned and waved at her as he exited the room. 

** ********

"Go on. Do it, Tom," encouraged Miles. 

"Yes, do it. Before the third years and up return from Hogsmeade," Uthman prodded. 

"_Please_, Tom?" begged Alvar. 

"All right." Tom retrieved his wand, pointed it to the far corner of the common room, and said, "_Serpensortia_." 

A large black snake with green eyes appeared on the far side of the room. Most of the first and second years that happened to be present screamed and proceeded to flee. A few fell and bruised themselves in their escape. 

"Come here," Tom ordered the serpent. 

The snake slithered over to Tom. 

"Do you want to stay here with me?" he said as it reached him and began to crawl up onto his lap. 

"No. It'sss too noisssy here. I don't like all of thessse humansss about me." 

"All right. I'll send you back." 

"Thanksss." 

Tom waved his wand and the snake disappeared in a cloud of black smoke. 

Alvar, Uthman, and Miles clapped. Cole Rudyard, Max LaSalle, and Zephyrus Baird stared at Tom with fright on their faces. Daemon and Omin Strick, identical first year twins, gazed at Tom with adoration. 

"You speak _Parseltongue_," Daemon said with awe in his voice. "That's _brilliant_." 

Tom smiled at the twins. 

"Would you teach us how to summon a snake?" said Omin. 

"And how to speak Parseltongue? _Please_?" Daemon begged. 

"I'll try," Tom replied, drily. 

"Thanks!" beamed Daemon. He turned to his brother. "He said that he would try." 

From that day forward, the Strick twins worshipped Tom and were often seen following on his heels like puppies. 

Zephyrus found his voice. "How come you never told us you were a Parselmouth?" 

** ********

** ... Summer 1939: A few months before the Muggle war began ...**

Tom was thoroughly exhausted when he retired for the day. He fell into a deep, dreamless sleep as soon as his head hit the flat pillow. 

A cold draft and a pillow being placed on his head partially awoke him. Then there was a heavy weight pressing down on him. Coming fully awake, he struggled to shake whatever it was off. A part of his mind seemed to think that he was still asleep and was in the midst of a nightmare. A sweaty hand snaked its way under the pillow and clamped its hand on his mouth. Then there was searing pain. He let out a muffled scream. On and on it went. 

** ********

Tom dreaded and despised the day before it began. He hurt. Fury, fear, and deep shame waged a heated battle inside him. 

The other boys, aged twelve through sixteen, were putting on their clothes and making their beds while Tom remained on his cot and struggled with an internal war. He was afraid to get up because everyone would see. The boys did not wear pyjamas. They slept in thin, white, short-sleeved shirts and pants. 

None of the boys said anything to him or acknowledged his presence. They were under direct orders from the orphanage staff not to speak to Tom because he was evil. 

Bingham barged into the room and ordered the boys to queue up for breakfast. Tom painfully sat up on his cot. While the boys were queuing up, he slid a little ways down the bed, careful to keep the thin blanket over him. He lifted the coverlet to assess the damage. There was blood on the sheet and on his pants. 

"Expect me to do it again," someone whispered. 

Tom glanced up in time to see sixteen-year-old Jared Shirley stroll past his cot. 

"Riddle! Get up here. NOW!" barked Bingham. 

Tom refused. He was not going to let the other boys see. 

"RIDDLE!" 

He remained where he was. _Let him come to me_, he thought. 

"Go on down to breakfast," Bingham barked at the boys. 

They filed past the beefy man while throwing glances over their shoulders at Tom. 

Bingham stalked rapidly toward Riddle. 

"Get up, boy!" 

"I can't, sir." 

Bingham reached out, brutally clamped his hand around Tom's arm, and wrenched him off the cot. He quickly spotted what Tom was attempting to conceal. 

"You filthy, _FILTHY_..._sodomite_!" 

He grabbed Tom cruelly by the neck and dragged him down the corridor. Then he pushed him into the room where the linen was washed. 

"Stay in here until I return!" 

A few minutes later, Bingham returned with Lewiston. They regarded him with revulsion. 

"Fill the tub with hot water, Bingham," Lewiston ordered while looking at Tom as though he were something putrid. 

Bingham dragged a large, tin tub to a water spigot, and turned it on full. Steaming hot water poured into the basin. 

"You're not going anywhere until you've washed, dried, and folded every piece of linen in this room. Do you hear me, boy?" 

Tom glanced over at the large piles of soiled linen with dismay. 

"ANSWER ME, BOY." 

"Yes, sir." 

"When you're done, you will be sent to Solitary for a month, you unnatural freak." 

Lewiston turned to Bingham and snapped, "Is it full, yet?" 

"Almost." 

Lewiston returned his hateful gaze onto Tom. "I should have expected it from the likes of you," he sneered. "Did you enjoy it, boy?" 

"It's ready, sir," said Bingham. 

"Strip!" 

Tom finally comprehended. They wanted him to get into the tub full of scalding water. He started to back away. 

"Grab him!" 

Bingham grabbed Tom. 

"NO!" Tom kicked at Bingham and hit him with his fists. "NO!" 

Panting with the effort to subdue Tom, Bingham called out for Lewiston's assistance. 

Lewiston kicked Tom in the groin, and he doubled up with agony. While he was temporarily immobilised, Bingham removed his shirt and Lewiston ripped off his blood-stained pants. Then they both lifted and carried him to the steaming tub. 

"NO! NO! _PLEASE_, NO! NOOOOO! _DON'T_!" 

They dropped him into the scalding water. Tom shrieked and attempted to get out but they held him down. After about two minutes, they pulled him from the tub. Tom continued to shriek. His body, from the chest downward, was burning! His skin was a blistered, raw red. 

Over Tom's screams, Lewiston thundered, "You will remain here until every piece of linen is washed and folded!" 

They locked him in the linen washroom. 

Tom stood there shrieking from the immense pain. He wished that he had ten flobuncles in front of him. He hated the orphanage. He hated Muggles. He hated himself. Tom turned to the wall and began to beat his fists against it until they bled. Over and over, he chanted in his mind, _I hate myself!_ He broke his knuckles unnoticed. 

An all consuming rage and hatred began to build up inside him as he pounded his battered fists against the wall. He hated himself! He hated the pain. He hated the linen. He hated the orphanage. He _hated_ Muggles! He wanted to kill, to destroy, and to maim. 

Tom stopped beating his fists against the walls, threw back his head, and roared. All of the windows in the room shattered with that power. The linen was suddenly clean and folded neatly on the tables. His burnt skin instantly healed. His broken knuckles were mended. The water in the tub turned into a block of ice. Then the door blew off its hinges and fell flat onto the floor. 

Krupp, Bingham, Lewiston, and Stewart charged into the room with mingled fear and bewilderment on their faces. 

Tom, naked and whole again, turned his gaze onto the four men. 

Lewiston, Krupp, Bingham, and Stewart saw a boy whose eyes were ablaze with cold fury. No one wanted to go near him. 

Tom walked past the men. As he passed Krupp, Krupp lifted the metal pipe in his hand and brought it down on the back of Tom's head. The thirteen-year-old orphan fell unconscious to the floor. 

** ********

He spent a month in Solitary. When Tom was finally released from confinement, he was rather thin and pale. The only thought that kept him going during those lonely days and nights in his cold, dark prison was revenge. He would never forget or forgive. 

** ********

The orphans were shuttled to Holwark Textile Factory on buses for another lengthy and arduous day of labour. It was common for the supervisors to strike the boys for being too slow or for performing sloppy work. Also, it was common for the orphans to be injured or killed by the machinery that wove, treated, and printed wool. They were never allowed time for rest or food. Typically, the boys worked in groups of two or three. 

On this day, Tom wanted to ensure that he was paired with Jared Shirley. He manoeuvred himself into position so that when the foreman assigned teams he would be placed with Jared. The foreman, a beefy man with a red face and a large, sandy moustache; barked out teams and directed them to preselected machines. 

"Worthy, Steen, and Michaels, number three. 

"Thomas and Pritchard, number eight. 

"Shirley and Riddle, number thirteen...." 

Tom smirked and followed Jared up a flight of metal stairs leading to a scaffold. He was inwardly pleased that they were assigned to one of the centrifuges. 

Silently, they worked together on the scaffold to feed wool into the centrifuge below. Often, Tom caught Jared's bright, hungry eyes on him. He knew what Jared was plotting. 

"Tonight, Satan," whispered Jared with a feverish gleam in his eyes. "I'm coming for you, tonight." 

"You can have me now." 

Jared's expression was that of surprise at Tom's reaction. He quickly recovered, and said in a low, silky voice, "You liked it, eh?" 

"Yes. I want you to do it, again. Please?" 

"Tonight." 

"No. Now. _Please_, Jared?" 

Jared glanced down at the factory floor. 

"No one will see us if we move over there," said Tom pointing to a gloomy space partially hidden by a support column projecting up to the ceiling. 

Jared, wrestling with whether or not to accept the enticing offer, remained rooted to the spot while Tom strolled into the darkness. 

"What are you waiting for?" he said to Jared while unbuttoning his trousers. "No one is going to see us. That bloody Anderson is having lunch." 

"All right," replied Jared full of anticipation. 

As Jared approached him, Tom moved slightly towards the end where there was no barrier separating the platform on which they stood and the large centrifuge below. 

"All...." Jared began in a breathy voice, and then Tom roughly shoved him. 

For less than a second that seemed like an eternity, Jared pin-wheeled his arms in a frenzied fight to maintain his balance. His mouth was open in a perfect "O" of surprise. Then Jared lost his footing in the battle and plunged downward into the swiftly rotating machine. Tom stepped up to the edge of the scaffold while buttoning up his trousers and looked down. The scene was grisly. He grinned, and then ran toward the stairs shouting for help. 

** ********

** ... 6 days before the Muggle war ...**

For a moment, he coldly stared down at the boy. Slytherin snatched the permission slip to visit Hogsmeade, signed it, and thrust it at him. 

"Thank you," said Tom taking the parchment. 

Slytherin waved his hand as though he were batting at an annoying fly, and left the compartment. Shortly after, Uthman arrived with his parents and sisters. 

"Father, Mother, this is Tom." 

The Malfoys stared down at him with disdain. 

"Is it true what my Uthman tells me?" Mrs. Malfoy said, snobbishly. "That you live in a Muggle orphanage?" 

Tom's face reddened. 

Mr. Malfoy added, "Imagine one of Salazar Slytherin's own descendants not only _living_ with filthy Muggles, but also having their vile blood in his veins." He shook his head in disgust. 

Tom's hands clenched into fists as he listened to Malfoy's spiel. 

Mr. Malfoy was not finished. "Salazar would roll over in his grave if he knew one of his descendants was a half-blood." 

"Father, it's all right," Uthman jumped in. "Tom doesn't like Muggles any more than we. He has proper wizarding pride. You said that was really important." 

Malfoy turned his chilly, grey eyes onto his only son. "True, Uthman, but I would prefer that you only kept company with purebloods, not mongrels. We have our own reputation to keep." 

Then Mrs. Malfoy, acting as though Tom were invisible, said, "Mahnnie, even Drakonis, his _own grandfather_, doesn't want him in his home. He's ashamed of him, understandably so. Remember what we have told you: we will not interfere with whom you select as your friends, as long as they aren't Mudbloods. However, you must understand that you must _never_ bring him into our home. Your father and I will not allow it. He is not welcome." 

Tom sat stewing in a private miasma of humiliation, bitterness, and resentment wrapped in rage. He did not notice when Uthman's parents and Rhiannon left the compartment. 

"Hullo," shouted Miles brightly as he entered the compartment and sat down next to Uthman. "Oi, Malfoy! Is this your itsby-bitsy, weensy sister?" 

The almost eleven-year-old girl with long, silvery blonde hair and denim blue eyes blushed. 

"Stop acting stupid, girl, and tell him your name. Go on before I slap you." Uthman raised his hand menacingly. 

She cringed slightly and quietly said, "Chloe." 

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Chloe. I'm Miles Dougal. That one over there is Tom Riddle, otherwise known as 'The Snake Charmer.'" 

Her eyes darted furtively over to Tom. Then Uthman slapped her. 

"Don't you have any manners, Chloe? Tell Miles that you are pleased to meet him. Go on." 

With tears in her eyes and a red handprint on her face, she said, "Pleased to meet you." 

"Now say hello to Tom." 

"Hello, Tom." 

Tom nodded his head slightly. 

"Why are you so f---ing mean to your little sis, Uthman?" said Miles. 

"Because she deserves it," he snapped. "Father and Mother pamper her like she's some kind of priceless doll. They always show her off to visitors to our home. It's disgusting, really. They buy her whatever she wants. At home, Rhiannon and I must treat her like she's some kind of princess. Father even _calls_ her 'Princess.' So, I have to teach her that she isn't one. The spoiled, little bitch needs reminding. 

"Every time Father and Mother travel to exciting, powerfully magical places like Egypt, they leave me and Rhian behind and take _her_. We've _never_ been to Egypt." Uthman glowered at Chloe, who shrank back from him. 

"Hullo, folks!" Alvar burst into the compartment. "Why hello, Chloe." 

"Hello," she replied, demurely. 

A minute later, Rhiannon entered the compartment. "Come, Chloe. You don't want to stay with the boys." 

Chloe leapt from her seat, but was prevented from reaching the door by Uthman grabbing her wrist. 

"No. She's staying with me. I'm her big brother. I'll watch over her." 

"_Honestly_, Mahnnie. She doesn't want to spend the entire trip to Hogwarts with boys. Come, Chloe. You can share a compartment with Winsome, Nanna, and me." 

Uthman gripped Chloe's wrist tighter as she attempted to leave with her sister. 

"Let's ask her who she wants to be with." Uthman looked at Chloe and said in a sugar coated voice, "Chloe, you want to stay with me, don't you? Don't you, Chloe? I'll take care of you." 

Unseen by anyone, except Tom, Uthman dug his nails into Chloe's soft flesh. 

With misery on her face, Chloe told Rhiannon that she would remain with Uthman. 

"Suit yourself then," responded Rhiannon. She rolled her eyes and exited the compartment. 

Uthman let go of Chloe's wrist, dotted with blood-filled half-moons, and shoved her into the seat across from Tom. 

Tom thought to himself that girls were weak. Dismissing his friends and Chloe from his thoughts, Tom started work on his unfinished Herbology assignment. 


	4. Lepus

_**A/N:** I apologise for making you wait so long for this chapter, and I thank you for your patience. Why did it take me so long? This chapter required research. I read Mein Kampf by Hitler, re-read the history of World War II, and read about the Battle of Britain. Yes, I was a busy little bee. I tried to make the scenes in which Riddle experienced the Battle of Britain as realistic as possible. To accomplish this, I actually listened to the sounds of various fighter aircraft of the period. Serious! Older military aircraft make a droning type of noise. Modern military aircraft, from my experience at air shows (should go to one if you get a chance; they're great!), make a deafening, screaming sound (when flying low). Anywho, I visited Battle of Britain.com to hear sounds from various fighter engines flown during World War II._

_There's more. If you look at the previous chapters, you will notice that they have been changed. Why? They have been "converted" to British English. I'm presently revising another one of my stories. I promised that it would be in British English. Of course, this affects any other stories I write. It's tedious to switch back and forth between American English and British English. Since Harry Potter is British.... Anywho, you get the point. This chapter is in British English, so this required that the previous ones be revised. Therefore, no flames, please, from my fellow Americans about spelling._

_Oh, I forgot. I changed the title of the first chapter. I discovered a story, here, with the exact same title. *sigh*_

_**Nemesis**: Many thanks for your reviews! I'm flattered, actually. However...don't sell your fic short. The difference only lies in the interpretation of one said character, Tom Marvolo Riddle. Your story is great in its interpretation. Hope that this makes sense. Hey, your fic was nominated for a Golden Quill Award. So there! ^_~_

_**Helpful Hint:** You may want to make this chapter available offline._

_That's it from moi (for now)._

_**Warning:** Violence (of course), animal cruelty, foul language, and scary war stuff ahead._

_**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter ideas, characters, and places do not belong to me. They belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Brothers._

**~~~~~~**

_**Immortalis Dominus Dominatus**_

**Part I: _Alpha_**

**by Auror5**

**~~~~~~**

**Chapter III: Lepus**

_Yea, the continyud dwyndling of our peepul ys alarming. Yet, to embraese the preposterus suggestyun of those traytors of our rayse ys abominabul! Yt ys without qwestyun Mugguls are of an unnashural and infearyor human strayn. I hast closelee scrutinised theyr habyts without theyr awareness. These foul subhuman spechees the Ordur of The Preservashun of Sorsuree proposes to commyngle with wallow in pestylense, and are plagued with diseases of the mynd, bodee, and soul. Theyr huvels are often filthee and overrun with vermyn. Yt ys commun to see theyr yung fraulycking with vyle, pest-riddun animuls, for thae themselves are on a beast-like levul. A few tymes, I hath the misforshune of coming within close proximitee of these unwurthee creeshures. The stench from theyr bodees overwelmed and sickened me. Yt ys not customaree for them to baethe on a regulur baesis, yf at all._

_The meer idea of willinglee polluting our blud with a lowlee communer, a being so close to that of a beast, ys abhorrunt! How dost we ever acheyveth human perfecshun by taynting our blud with foul, infearyor beings? Historicul rekkords hast proven that we sorsurers hast attayned masteree thru censhurees of evolushun whilst the Mugguls remayn infearyor in intelligense, morals, and habits. Thruout historee, yt has been showne that Mugguls persyst in engaging in unsavouree habits, and theyr intelligense remayns akin to that of a nome. Thae are incaepabul of rashanul thot dew to a rudimentree braeyn; altho, a few of theyr members hast managed to attayn surprisinglee hy levuls of thot onlee seen in the magycul wurld. Those few Mugguls caepabul of intelligense, even magycul abilitee, are but meer aberraeshuns, or a form of mutaetion in the Muggul breed._

_Dost our wayning in numbers justify taynting our blud with infearyor stock? Nae! Yt ys me convycshun that in ordur to preserv our peepul we must aggressivlee maintayn our pure bludlyne at enee coste. The survivul of our superyor speshees aeons into the fushure ys imperativ. We must settul the conflyt between arkaic moral consideraeshune and the compelling conshusness for survivul of our master rayse. Yt ys vastly more preferabul for us to resorte to inbreeding to saev ourselves than to abaese and destroy our bludlyne by consorting to mix with lowlee animuls...._

"Good afternoon, Mr. Riddle."

Tom glanced up sharply from the book he was reading, and carefully placed his arm across the volume so as to conceal its title.

"Good afternoon, sir."

Headmaster Dippet, an ancient appearing wizard with sparse strands of white hair atop his otherwise bald dome, smiled kindly at Tom. Then Professor Dippet proceeded to sit in the chair across from him. Tom clenched his jaw slightly with annoyance. For some indefinable reason, the old man's frailty repelled him.

"I wish the other students were as dedicated as you, Riddle. Your marks are excellent. You consistently score at the top of your year. That is a worthy accomplishment."

He shook his head. "Alas, I only wish half the students were as bright and devoted to their studies as you are. You are a model pupil, not just in grades, but in deportment as well. Your professors tell me that your behaviour is exemplary. Yes, keep it up, son, and you will be Head Boy in your seventh year. I wish every student was like you to tell the truth."

"Thank you, sir."

"You're welcome. Tell me, for which lesson are you studying on this Sunday afternoon?"

"Dark Arts."

"Ah. Professor Falcon speaks very highly of you, of course."

Tom made no reply, but feigned a sudden fit of bashfulness.

Professor Dippet chuckled softly. "A modest one at that, eh? I'm sorry to put you on the spot, son." Then the headmaster briefly touched his hand.

It took Tom all his willpower to prevent himself from recoiling with revulsion at that touch.

"Tell me, do you have all that you need? If there is anything you require, do not hesitate to ask. I'll see to it that you receive what you need. A boy as intelligent and good as you deserves to be supported."

Inwardly, Tom gloated and formulated a plan.

"Sir?"

"Yes."

Tom sighed. "I was wondering...."

"Go on. Is there anything you require?" Professor Dippet gently encouraged.

"Well, I..." Tom took a deep breath. "Well, sir, often I need to read the books in the restricted section, but I need permission to do so. Sir, not all of my professors are willing to give me permission to borrow books in the restricted section."

"Oh, I see."

"Sir, I'm a good student...."

"Brilliant, actually."

Tom grinned. "Thank you, sir. I was wondering if you would allow me access to the restricted books. Please, sir? I promise I would use them responsibly. I really do enjoy learning. It seems I cannot get enough. That is the reason I spend so much time in here. My professors inspire me to _want _to learn more. And _you_, sir. You're my inspiration, too. I hope some day to become Headmaster of Hogwarts. I would model myself after you, and tell my charges that you helped make me a noble and worthy person." Tom sighed. "I only wish everyone could see you the way _I_ do."

Professor Dippet appeared flustered and touched by praise from someone so young. "Thank you, Tom. What a dear boy you are!"

For a moment, he lapsed into thought. Tom held his breath.

"Yes, you are a model student. I will grant your request. How is that?"

A grin overspread Tom's face. "You will, sir?"

"Yes, I will. If I have to make an exception, it would be in your case. You deserve it. I will write a letter to Madam Pince directing her to allow you full liberty and freedom of all the contents of this library. I know that you will use good judgment and be a responsible lad."

"Oh, thank you, sir," gushed Tom. "Thank you, Headmaster! This means _so much_ to me. Thanks!"

Professor Dippet smiled, and rose from the chair. "You are welcome, son. Madam Pince will receive the letter first thing tomorrow morning." He patted Tom on the head and proceeded to leave.

With a smirk on his face and a cold gleam in his eyes, Tom watched the old wizard slowly exit the library. He thought that now he would have full access to the restricted section, he would finally be able to solve the mystery of Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets.

**********

Daemon and Omin, the Strick twins, interrupted him as he was working on his Transfiguration assignment in the common room.

" Tom, this is Friedrich, Isaac, and Timothy. They're first years."

He glanced at the three unfamiliar boys. "So?"

"They're wondering if you would help them with Dark Arts like you've been helping us," answered Omin.

Tom peered closely at Isaac, Timothy, and Friedrich.

"Please?" said Timothy, a slight boy with curly dark hair, green eyes, and effeminate features.

"All right. Meet me below the castle after lessons tomorrow. Daemon and Omin will show you the way."

"Thanks!" the boys chorused, and left.

**********

The boys stood before him in a musty, litter strewn, forgotten room below Hogwarts.

"I'm too busy with my work. I don't know how I can't help all five of you without a price."

Daemon and Omin, both second years, frowned slightly. The other boys stared up at him with lack of understanding on their faces.

"Daemon, you told these three about how I've been helping you and your brother, eh?"

Daemon nodded his head.

"So, what do you think is going to happen next?"

Daemon glanced at Omin, and shrugged.

Omin frowned ponderously, and then replied, "One of them will tell someone else?"

"Yes, Omin. Too bad your twin isn't as intelligent as you."

Daemon's face turned a bright shade of red.

"You see, I don't want to be bothered every day by stupid little boys asking me to teach them the Dark Arts. I also don't want it to get around this bloody school that I've been helping you with the Dark Arts. I have a reputation to keep. Headmaster Dippet believes me to be a model student. The headmaster wishes that every one of you were like me." He laughed.

Tom's peculiar laugh made the boys feel uneasy.

Then Friedrich, a boy with whitish-blonde hair, blue eyes, and a disappointed expression on his face, said, "So, you're not going to help us?"

"I didn't say that. I said it would not come without a _price_. Are you willing to pay the price?"

With slight reservation, the boys nodded their heads.

"All right. Roll up your sleeves."

The boys complied.

Tom removed a sharp knife, stolen from the kitchens late one night, from his pocket.

"Each of you must swear that everything passing between us stays with us. You must swear that you won't tell anyone about our group or us. You must swear that you won't bring anyone into this group without my permission. Understand?"

Slightly unsure, the boys nodded their heads slowly.

"You must swear obedience to me. You must swear that you will obey everything I tell you to do. Do you swear?"

"Yes," they replied in a low voice.

"Louder!"

"Yes," they shouted.

"All right. Daemon, you first."

Daemon stepped up to him with apprehension on his face.

Tom grabbed him by the forearm. "You must freely give me your blood so that I know I have your loyalty."

With fear on his face, Daemon said, "Tom? Tom, this isn't going to hurt, is it?"

"No."

Then with quick, efficient strokes, he carved a shallow "S" on Daemon's arm as the boy screamed in pain. Blood splattered onto the dusty, bone littered floor.

"You said it wouldn't hurt!" Daemon whimpered as he gripped his arm above the shallow cut.

"Oh shut your gob, poof. You sound like a f---ing girl. I wager your brother is stronger than you. Omin, come here."

Reluctantly, Omin walked up to Tom.

"You're more of a man than your brother, eh?"

Omin nodded his head.

"All right. Then prove it. I don't have time for f---ing poofs."

Omin presented his arm, and Tom performed his work. The boy flinched as tears filled his eyes.

"Whose next?"

The three first year boys glanced at each other nervously. Then Isaac, a caramel coloured boy with hazel eyes and long, crinkly, reddish brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, stepped forward and held out his forearm.

After all of the boys were marked, they stood before Tom sniffling and trying unsuccessfully, in most cases, to hold back tears. 

"D'you know who we are?"

They shook their heads.

"The 'S' on your arm is for Slytherin. You are Slytherin's soldiers. You are part of Slytherin's army. D'you know who we are at war against?"

"Muggles?" Friedrich piped up while wiping tears from his face.

"Yes. We're at war with Muggles and Mudbloods. Slytherin's soldiers against Muggles and Mudbloods, understand?"

They nodded their heads.

"All right. Now, the price."

Confusion passed across their faces.

"For membership in Slytherin's army, of which _I'm_ the leader, you must each pay me one Sickle per week. This Saturday, after lunch, meet me down here with your money."

They nodded their heads and mumbled, "All right."

"Don't forget. Every week you must pay me one Sickle.

"All right. You can go."

As they started to leave, each comically gripping their bloody forearms, Tom halted them. In an ominous voice, he warned them again not to mention their group or anything pertaining to it to no one.

Once they were ahead of him by a good distance, Tom grinned and thought, _Now, I will have money for my first Hogsmeade visit_.

**********

"Where are you going?" drawled Uthman Malfoy as he spotted Tom leaving the common room.

He grinned. "To shepherd my sheep."

"Could we join?" Miles Dougal called out.

"No."

Miles shrugged and then resumed playing chess with Uthman.

They were waiting for him when he entered the room beneath the castle.

"All right. Hand it over."

All five boys gave him a Sickle. Tom reckoned that by the first Hogsmeade visit, he would have fifteen Sickles, two shy of a Galleon. He thought that perhaps he should recruit more followers.

**********

A week before the first Hogsmeade visit of the year, Tom gathered the boys in the room where they had been having their rendezvous.

"I have an assignment for you."

He paced the small room. The boys looked up at him.

"Your assignment is this: you will keep an ear out on what people are saying about me in this bloody school. I want to know everything. Each week, you will report anything you've heard about me. Make sure you get the names of those who say anything nasty about me. Understand?"

"Yes," they chorused.

"I especially want to know who has said anything ill about me.

"Now, I need my fee."

The boys began to remove money from the pockets of their robes.

"Timothy?"

"Here, Tom."

"It's 'Sir' or 'Leader,' Timothy, not Tom. Don't forget."

"I have mine, Leader." Isaac dropped twenty-nine Knuts into Tom's hand. "I'm sorry, sir, for the Knuts."

"It's all right," he replied and pocketed the coins.

"We have ours, too," said Daemon.

Omin and Daemon each dropped a Sickle into Tom's outstretched palm.

"Friedrich?"

Friedrich squirmed nervously with his eyes downcast.

In a colder voice, Tom repeated the boy's name.

"Sir? Leader, I'm sorry. I don't have it all. All I had left were eighteen...."

Before Friedrich could finish, Tom angrily struck him across the side of the head with his wand. The boy fell to the floor, and then reached up to cup his bleeding ear.

Eyes narrowed, Tom shouted at Friedrich to rise to his feet.

Crying, the eleven-year-old boy stumbled to his feet while cradling his rapidly swelling, bleeding ear.

"I told you, one Sickle per week, Friedrich! What the bloody hell am I supposed to do with eighteen f---ing Knuts? Answer me!"

"I, I do-don't know, sir," Friedrich sobbed.

He bent to Friedrich's level and said in a near whisper, "Friedrich, you must always obey me. I'm your leader. I tell you what to do. I told you to bring me one f---ing Sickle per week. This week, you chose not to obey me. Therefore...."

"But...."

Irrational fury seized Tom. He grabbed Friedrich brutally by the hair and flung him against the wall.

The other boys stepped back in alarm. They had not realised, until then, that he could be so violent.

Tom put his face close to Friedrich's and said in a low voice, "Don't you _ever_ interrupt me while I'm talking to you. D'you hear me?"

Friedrich could barely speak for he was sobbing too hard. His head and back were throbbing with pain. He managed to choke out, "Yes, Leader."

Tom clenched and unclenched his fists while breathing heavily. He had an overwhelming desire to beat the boy before him. He wanted to hear him shriek and beg for mercy. Striking Friedrich made him feel good, powerful. Tom enjoyed watching the boy cower before him. _Perhaps another time_, he thought.

"Leader?" said Isaac in a tremulous voice and with an anxious expression on his face. "I have eleven Knuts."

"So?" Tom hissed.

"Erm, if I give you my eleven Knuts, you will have five Sickles. You know, with Friedrich's eighteen Knuts."

"All right. Give them to me."

With trembling hands, Isaac handed Tom the coins.

Tom returned his attention to Friedrich. "What about you, Friedrich? What are you waiting for?"

Tears rolling down his face, Friedrich fished for the coins in his pockets. Sniffing, he gave them to Tom with shaking hands.

"Good. I'll bring each of you a sweet from Hogsmeade."

"Thank you, sir," they replied, quietly.

**********

Tom, Uthman, Alvar, Miles, Jordan Towshipp of Ravenclaw, and Bertram Greeneye of Hufflepuff sat in the Three Broomsticks sipping their second round of butterbeer.

"Eh, Towshipp, think she's pretty?"

Jordan blushed.

"Towshipp's in love with the owner's daughter," laughed Miles.

"Isn't she too old for you?" remarked Bertram.

"Shut up," Jordan replied.

"Perhaps he fancies older women," commented Uthman.

"She's not that old," Alvar said. "She's eighteen, five years older than us."

"How do you know?" said Jordan.

"Earlier, I heard one of those fifth years over there ask." He nodded in the direction of a group of boys clustered at a table near the counter.

"What's her name?" Uthman said while watching the girl in question.

She was exceptionally pretty with an hourglass figure that had caught the attention of a number of older boys.

"Rosmerta," supplied Miles.

"What do you think, Tom?" said Jordan.

"Of what?"

"Rosmerta."

Tom shrugged, and sipped his butterbeer.

"D'you think she's pretty, Tom?" Bertram said.

"She's all right for a girl."

Bertram then made the mistake of saying, "You aren't a _bender_, are you?"

Tom threw the remainder of his butterbeer in Bertram's face. Then he rose from his chair and walked over to where Bertram was hastily wiping the drink from his face and hair.

"What did you do that for? I only asked!"

Quietly, with teeth clenched, Tom said, "Don't you ever ask me a question like that again. I'll kill you."

**********

After their third visit to Hogsmeade, Tom began to sneak out of the castle late at night to visit Hogsmeade. He broke into various shops and stole small items such as socks, quills, parchment, and sweets despite the fact that he had enough money to purchase the things he had pilfered.

**********

The Christmas holidays arrived, and as usual Tom was the only Slytherin left. He brooded over his mother and simmered in fury over the thought of his Muggle father. He wondered whether his father still lived in Little Hangleton. Tom planned to confront him one day, to make him pay for what he had done to his mother and him.

Tom also utilized the time to work on solving the mystery surrounding the Chamber of Secrets. He suspected that the chamber was somewhere in the castle but he could not fathom its location. His only clue was a cryptic one that stated, "From where water springeth forth, a tunnul shall leadeth to the chaymbur which doth purgeth the unworthee." Tom found this in an obscure book entitled, Slytherin's Selective Hogwarts.

He made another clandestine foray into Hogsmeade and filched a pair of dragon-hide gloves; a warm and expensive, black cloak; and a pair of shoes. It was the first comfortable and correct-fitting shoes he had ever worn. He doubted that Drakonis ever took the time to go through the contents of his trunk during the summer holidays. Tom planned to tell his friends that his new clothing was a Christmas present from his grandfather.

One night, Tom strolled across the grounds while puzzling over Salazar's riddles. Lost deep in thought, he was suddenly startled by a blue speckled kneazle that glowed faintly. The animal arched its back, hissed, and spat at him. Tom removed the wand from his pocket. Before it could escape, he shouted, "_Stupefy_." He went over to the unconscious feline and picked it up by its tail. Tom then headed for the greenhouses.

Once inside a greenhouse, he attached the kneazle to a table by driving a nail into each of its paws. Afterwards, Tom pointed his wand at the animal and said, "_Ennervate_." The feline immediately began to shriek in a disturbingly child-like, human voice while trying to tear its paws from the table. Tom immediately placed a Silencer Charm on the beast. He did not want the kneazle's cries to attract attention from the castle. Tom methodically began to flay the animal alive. It died before he could get to its tail.

Professor Stemm was aghast and sickened when she discovered the kneazle the following morning.

**********

On Valentine's Day, Tom received a half-dozen love letters, cards, and sweets from girls who wished to remain anonymous. All of it disgusted him. His friends were puzzled over his reaction.

**********

The boys gathered in the room below the castle. After the boys provided a report to Tom, he demanded the obligatory Sickle from each of them. For the second time, Friedrich did not have his payment. Tom grabbed him cruelly by the upper arm.

"I'm going to teach you a lesson, Friedrich. I told you not to disobey me, but you did it again."

Tears welling up in his blue eyes, Friedrich exclaimed, "I'm sorry, Leader. I asked my mum to...."

"Shut up! I don't want to hear your stupid excuses. I told you, _one Sickle per week_, not six f---ing Knuts! I don't care how you get the money, Friedrich. You get it to obey _me_. D'you hear? You steal it if you have to! Now, strip."

"_What_?"

Tom slapped him. "I said _strip_, you putrid little prick!"

Friedrich started crying, and slowly began to remove his robe.

"Hurry! I don't have all day. I'm going to teach you lesson." Then he glared at the other boys who watched in anxiety. "You're going to watch what I do. Timmy, shut the door."

Timothy ran over to close the heavy, oak door.

"Please, sir," said Isaac with worry etching his face. "I have extra money."

"NO! You won't cover for him this time, Isaac."

Isaac shrank back from Tom while watching his best friend remove his remaining articles of clothing.

Nude, Friedrich stood shivering and crying before Tom.

"Turn around and place your hands on the wall. Go on."

With a brief hesitation, Friedrich complied.

Tom removed the wand from his pocket. He looked at the other boys who were huddled together with fear and apprehension.

"Watch and remember."

Using his wand, Tom struck Friedrich across the back with as much force as he could muster. Friedrich screamed. Tom continued to beat the boy with mounting excitement and while yelling at him to keep his hands on the wall. More than once, he repeated to Friedrich that he better not tell anyone who beat him. Eventually, Friedrich passed out.

"Someone help me put his clothes on."

The boys were paralysed with fright over what they had witnessed.

"Isaac, come here!"

Isaac, weeping silently, slowly made his way over to Tom.

"Help me put his clothes on."

Isaac assisted Tom in dressing Friedrich. He noted that Friedrich's entire backside, from the neck down, was red, purple, blue, and lumpy. There was blood in his hair.

"All right," Tom said after Friedrich was clothed. "We're going to have to carry him out of here. Daemon, help me."

Reluctantly, Daemon helped Tom lift Friedrich.

"Timothy, you and Isaac run ahead of us. Let us know if you see anyone coming our way."

They nodded their heads while averting their eyes.

"Omin, you stay to the rear to keep a lookout."

Omin nodded his head.

"Are you ready, Daemon?"

"Yes," he murmured with eyes downcast.

Cautiously, with Friedrich's limp form hanging between them, they carried him up four flights of stairs. A few times they were nearly caught. Finally, Tom decided to leave Friedrich behind a heavy tapestry on the floor where Potions was held. Tom and Daemon were out of breath and sweaty after the exertion.

"Let's go."

"You're, you're going to leave him here?"

"Yes, stupid. Where else would we leave him?"

Daemon shrugged with an expression of worry on his face. "What if no one finds him?"

"So? He's not dead. He'll come around. Come, we better hurry. Supper will be served in a few minutes."

Late that night, the caretaker found Friedrich's unconscious form and rushed him to the hospital wing. Friedrich was unable to tell those who questioned him the next morning what had happened. Apparently, he had forgotten everything.

**********

Tom was sitting in an overstuffed chair in the common room with one leg draped across the armrest. He was idly flipping through the pages of his mother's diary while half-listening to his chums.

"Oi," he said, lazily.

"What?" replied Alvar.

"I was wondering if you three would do me a favour."

Uthman shrugged. "What is it?"

Tom half-smiled. "I need you to spy on my flock of sheep."

Miles sniggered. "Have your little sheep been straying?"

"No. They better not. I just want to make sure they have been obeying me. D'you know who they all are?"

"The Strick twins," responded Alvar.

"And those three over there in that corner." Tom pointed to Isaac, Friedrich, and Timothy, who happened to be playing Gobstones at the moment.

Uthman, Miles, and Alvar gazed at the three first years.

"All right," replied Miles.

"What do you want to know?" Uthman said.

"Erm, just let me know what they're up to. Especially keep an eye on Isaac and Friedrich. They're best friends. I think Isaac is helping Friedrich with something he ought not to."

"All right. We're your spies," said Alvar.

"What's in it for us?" Uthman inquired.

"You can help me discipline them...once in a while."

"D'you know that Gryffindor Mudblood I squirted flobuncle essence on last year?" said Alvar changing the subject.

"Yes," Tom replied.

"I heard that his older brother was killed in some bloody Muggle war."

Tom frowned. "War?"

Uthman snorted. "What do they use to fight with? Sticks and stones?" He laughed.

Skye Amberidge and Cynthia Darkling, who were blushing and giggling, distracted them.

Skye flipped her blonde hair out of her face, batted her eyelashes, and said, "Erm, Tom, Cindy and me..." She glanced at her friend, who blushed. "Were wondering if you could help us with our Potions assignment. _Please_?" She batted her eyelashes again and pouted slightly.

"No. But Miles will."

Miles' mouth dropped open in indignation.

Both girls' faces fell with disappointment. They glanced over at Miles.

Cynthia muttered, "All right. Thanks."

They left.

"What did you do that for?" shouted Miles in consternation.

"I don't want to be bothered with stupid cows."

"Neither do I!"

"Just do it, Miles. For me, eh?"

Miles glared at him.

"I'll give you three Galleons, if you do it."

He sighed. "All right."

Then Rhiannon appeared. "Mahnnie, have you seen Chloe?"

"No."

She sighed. "If you see her before I do, tell her Mother sent the doll she wanted."

Then Rhiannon proceeded to move away.

Uthman muttered with a scowl on his face, "The little princess always gets what she wants."

Tom watched Rhiannon as she walked off.

**********

The students gathered up their belongings and prepared to leave the Transfiguration classroom.

"Mr. Riddle, may I see you for a moment?"

Nearly to the door, Tom turned on his heels and went to Dumbledore's desk.

"Oi, Tom, we'll see you in the common room!" said Uthman from the doorway.

Tom nodded his head and returned his attention to Dumbledore.

"Sir?"

"I wanted to see you about your essay."

Dumbledore reached inside his desk and retrieved Tom's paper.

"I found your views on magical transformation...intriguing. I see that you put much research and effort into it."

"I did, sir."

"So, tell me: why would a wizard or witch desire to undergo radical, no doubt dangerous, transformations?"

Tom shrugged. "To alter his or her image, sir."

"Yes, of course. I was curious as to why you wholeheartedly seemed to embrace attempting such an experiment."

Feeling slightly irritated, Tom replied, "Perhaps a wizard would want to shed his identity."

"And why would he want to do that?"

"To become something new, something better."

"Indeed? And what if it should fail? These type of magical transformations you outlined in your essay are exceedingly dangerous."

He responded, "It would not fail for the right wizard, sir, a powerful wizard who was also very brilliant."

Dumbledore gave him a penetrating stare. Then he quietly said, "Mr. Riddle, would you attempt to carry out such an experiment?"

Tom gazed unwaveringly into Dumbledore's bright, blue eyes and replied, "Perhaps."

"I offer you one advice, Mr. Riddle: don't try it. I would hate to see a brilliant and handsome boy such as yourself come to ruin."

With jaw clenched in anger, he retorted, "I won't _ever_ come to ruin, sir."

"I gather you would exercise wise judgment and not attempt such a dangerous feat? I knew you were a clever boy."

Tom stared at Dumbledore with barely disguised contempt.

"Here's your essay, Mr. Riddle," Dumbledore said in a slightly cold tone. "As you can see, I gave you high marks despite the fact that I found the content...disturbing."

Tom took the five rolls of parchment. "Thank you," he said, icily.

"Good day, Mr. Riddle."

**********

Tom faced a very nervous Isaac in the meeting room below the castle. They were alone.

"Uthman told me that you have been supplying your bloody friend, Friedrich, with money. Is that true?"

Afraid, Isaac glanced down at the floor and backed away from Tom.

"Answer me," he said in a low, silky voice.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because he's my best friend and...."

"And what?" Tom snapped.

"I didn't want him to be beat again," Isaac blurted out.

"Really? And what do you think is going to happen to you?"

Gazing down at his feet, Isaac shrugged.

Tom roughly shoved him to the floor and then straddled over the boy's chest. Tom pinned Isaac's arms to his sides with his legs.

Tears sprang to Isaac's eyes. "_Please_, Tom."

Tom slapped him. "When we're down here I'm Leader or Sir!"

He reached into his pocket and retrieved his dragon-hide gloves. He then pulled them on. "I'm going to teach you a lesson, Isaac. You aren't supposed to help those who won't help themselves. If Friedrich needs money, he has to learn to get it for himself. He's not a charity case."

Tom reached into his other pocket and took out a packet. "D'you know what undiluted bubotuber pus is, Isaac?"

Isaac shook his head while intently watching Tom's hands.

"In a moment, you'll become _intimately_ familiar with it." Tom gave him an arresting smile that momentarily disarmed Isaac.

"Now, stay still."

Holding the open packet over Isaac's face, he began to squeeze the thick, petrol smelling liquid from it.

"Don't tell anyone I did this, Isaac," he said in a threatening voice as the first drop splattered onto Isaac's right cheek.

At first, Isaac yelped as the bubotuber pus began to sting. Then he started shrieking and writhing as Tom squeezed the rest of it on his face. Tom smeared the pus across his skin for maximum coverage. In a matter of seconds, Isaac's face was covered with large, yellow boils.

Tom leapt up and bellowed over Isaac's screams, "Don't tell anyone who did this to you." Then he left the room.

**********

In three days, the students would leave Hogwarts for the summer holidays. Tom was not looking forward to returning to the orphanage. He wondered if there was a way for him to never set foot in the hated place ever again.

First, he had to find a location to conceal most of the money he had accumulated. During their last visit to Hogsmeade, he had procured a small, bewitched chest in which to place his coins. He wanted to leave the box with his meagre wealth at Hogwarts, in the room he was presently in. Before doing so, he would need to place a Concealer Charm on the container so that it would not be seen. Tom rose from the floor by his bed and went to the door. He locked it so that the other boys could not enter and interrupt what he was about to do.

Pulling out his wand, he pointed it at the chest and began the chant he memorized from one of the books in the advanced magic section of the library.

_"Mine eyes, deceiveth not._

_"To eyes of strangers, not of mine...concealeth thyself in obscurity._

_"Remain in secret, hidden from eyes not mine...until revealeth by my tongue._

_"Chest of value, concealeth from all...except mine._

"_Occulto_!"

An electric blue light skated over the contours of the chest and winked out. Then a cloud of black smoke billowed over the container and promptly vanished. The box no longer appeared solid. Tom could see it, but it was as though he were viewing it through shimmering, slightly murky water. He smiled. The charm worked. No one would see the chest even if he levitated it in the centre of the common room.

**********

Drakonis met him at platform nine and three-quarters. He took Tom's trunk and gruffly stated, "Due to the barbaric Muggle war, we're going to have to use a Portkey to travel to that bloody orphanage of yours."

Tom had no concept of what Drakonis meant by Portkey. He found out shortly after they left the station. In a rubbish-strewn courtyard nearly obscured by shrubbery, Drakonis picked up a filthy sock and ordered him to grab one end of it. Tom hesitated.

"Go on, boy," he snapped. "I don't have all day."

Tom complied. Immediately, he felt an odd sensation as though a string was tugging him forward by his abdomen. He seemed to have left the ground, and was flying rapidly toward an unknown destination in a kaleidoscope of images and roaring of wind. Suddenly, his feet hit the ground and he fell. He picked himself up and dusted off his clothes. Glancing around, he realised that he was in a vacant lot behind the orphanage.

"You know the way from here," Drakonis said, and disapparated. It was the first time Tom had ever seen him do it.

Sighing, Tom slowly made his way over to St. Cuthbert's Orphanage for Boys.

**********

**... Summer 1940: The Muggle Battle of Britain ...**

He hated Muggle life. Tom and the rest of the orphans were crammed and locked into St. Cuthbert's basement each day before sunset. They were told that they had to stay in the dark basement at night for their protection and so that there would not be any light above to attract the notice of enemy aircraft. Periodically, they were awakened in the night by air raid sirens. Tom no longer slept soundly. Between the ill boys coughing throughout the night, sirens, and fighting to keep the rats off him, Tom barely slept two hours per night.

Each morning, the orphans were brought up to the upper floors to quickly wash and eat. Their food rations were skimpier than ever. Tom and the rest of the boys seemed to live in perpetual hunger. There were numerous accidents or injuries at the factory as a result of the boys being deprived of sleep and food. The foremen worked them unmercifully in support of the war effort.

One day, after labouring strenuously at Holwart's Textile Factory, the bus that carried the boys to and from work broke down on Vauxhall Road. The orphans remained inside while the driver attempted to discover the cause of the problem. Then the sirens awakened and filled them with dread. The driver yelled for the boys to exit the bus.

They ran into a nearby building as a number of aeroplanes growled overhead.

"Put on your gas masks," the driver shouted. "Stay low and keep your hands over your heads!"

The boys and the patrons of the shop kneeled in the aisles with their foreheads pressed to the floor and hands covering their heads.

Outside, aircraft droned in the sky. Distantly, they heard a series of staccato gunshots.

Tom huddled against a shelf full of assorted items. His eyes settled on a small, thin, black book inches from his face. He reached out and grasped it at the same instant the windows of the shop shattered as a bomb detonated not too far away.

As the summer progressed, the air raids increased.

**********

When Drakonis came by to take him to Diagon Alley via Portkey, Tom was surprised to see that he was as almost as tall as his grandfather. He reckoned that within a year or two, he and Drakonis would be of the same height.

His trek within the confines of Diagon Alley seemed as though it were occurring in a surrealistic world. Anxiety hung over him like a pall. He was bone-weary and starving. Tom was glad when they finally stopped for something to eat at one of the pubs. _A fortnight_, he thought while wolfing down his meal. _A fortnight, and I'll be back at Hogwarts_.

**********

**... London: The Night of The Muggle Blitz ...**

In terror, the orphans huddled in the basement. St. Cuthbert's foundations shook as the German bombs fell on the city. The sirens blared endlessly. Over the never-ending wailing sirens and din of explosions rocketing parts of London, they could hear the buzzing drone of hundreds of aircraft as they flew overhead at impossibly high speeds. The younger boys shrieked and held onto each other. The older boys, like Tom, simply trembled with too-wide eyes and faces drained of colour. None of the boys knew where the orphanage staff disappeared to each night when they were locked in the basement.

Huddled in a corner and listening to the deafening sounds of doom, Tom worried that there would be a fire, that they would die burning in this room below the orphanage. He wished for his wand. Tom had never felt so afraid and helpless in his life.

**********

Alvar stared intently at Tom with concern on his face. The train had just begun its long journey to Hogwarts.

"Tom," he said, softly, "are you all right?"

His friends noted Tom's pale and thin countenance. Tom also had dark smudges beneath his eyes as though he had not been sleeping much.

"I'm just tired," he replied. "Wake me when the witch with the food trolley comes by."

"All right," said Uthman.

As he drifted off, he thought, _I'll finish my History of Magic assignment later_.

**********

The sleep refreshed him but he was ravenous with hunger. Tom impatiently waited for the Sorting Ceremony to begin.

"My _God_, do you see him?" Cole Rudyard exclaimed. "_Look at him_!"

Murmuring filled the Great Hall as the first years entered. A large first year boy, who appeared about six feet tall, had attracted the rest of the students' attention. A number of Slytherins guffawed loudly.

Uthman snorted. "What did he do? Put an Engorgement Charm on himself?"

"Perhaps he drank a bottle of Skele-Gro because he couldn't read," sniggered Maximillian LaSalle.

Tom smirked as a number of his fellow Slytherins laughed and poked fun at the oversized first year.

"Silence, please," Dumbledore ordered. "In a moment, the Sorting Ceremony will begin."

"APPLESAUCE, TOBY."

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Tom turned to listen to the Slytherins nearby utter crude and vulgar jokes about the large first year boy.

"CONRAD, MELIA."

"SLYTHERIN!"

The Slytherins erupted in boisterous applause for the first student sorted into their house. Tom glanced up and turned away. Then he did a double take. He watched as the girl with long, glossy black ringlets and dark, blue eyes made her way over to the table with a faint smile on her lips.

She sat next to Chloe Malfoy. Tom continued to gaze at her for several more minutes. Then he leaned over and whispered to Alvar, "What was the girl's name? Did you catch it?"

"Conrad. I didn't catch her first name."

"Oh." He would find out later.

"HAGRID, RUBEUS."

"_Shite_, it's the mountain boy," said Uthman.

Hagrid attempted to pull the sorting hat onto his large head.

Several of the Slytherins snorted and banged their fists on the table. One of the older boys shouted, "It won't fit, boy. Stop _trying_."

Dumbledore glared out at the sea of students as a number of them laughed.

Hagrid blushed and simply propped the hat atop his head.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"You must be _joking_!" said Miles as the Gryffindors stood and cheered wildly. "I was sure the big oaf would be placed in Hufflepuff."

Much to Tom's relief, the Sorting Ceremony eventually ended and the feast began. He was starving. While partaking of the meal, Tom furtively gazed at Conrad.

Later, he discovered that her full name was Melia Alexandra Conrad.

**********

For the first several weeks of the school year, Tom was plagued with recurring nightmares of explosions, sirens, and unseen droning aircraft. Overlying the dreams was a sense of having no control, of being a rabbit trapped in a cage with a serpent. He did not want to feel helpless and powerless ever again.

**********

"Tom?"

"What?"

He was sitting in the common room pretending to work on a Herbology assignment. Actually, he was waiting for Melia to show up so that he could watch her.

"I think those boys over there..." Timothy pointed to two first year boys eagerly looking over at them. "Want to join our army."

"Really?"

Timothy nodded his head. "They always seem to follow us around."

Tom seemed to recall the two boys tagging along at times when they were in the corridors.

He sighed. "Bring them over here."

Timothy quickly rose and went over to the boys. Huge grins overspread their faces, and they followed Timothy over to where Tom sat.

"Hullo," they said.

"What are your names?"

"Clem Michaelson," replied the short, scrawny boy with prominent front teeth.

"I'm Jason Weber."

"All right, Clem and Jason, our next meeting will be this Saturday after lunch. Timothy will show you how to get there. Don't tell anyone about the meeting or you will regret it. Understand?"

They nodded their heads.

"All right. Leave me."

Melia and her friends had just entered the common room.

**********

Tom decided to take a break from trying to solve the Chamber of Secrets mystery. He did not seem to be arriving anywhere. So he turned his attention to studying the greatest sorcerers and sorceresses known in the magical world.

**********

The seven boys stood before him in a semicircle in the room beneath the castle. Alvar, Uthman, and Miles leaned against a wall with their arms folded across their chests.

"These are my friends," he told the boys. "Alvar McKinley, Miles Dougal, and Uthman Malfoy. You are to obey them as you obey me. They are my generals. You are my soldiers. You are of the lowest rank.

"These two new soldiers of Slytherin's Army are Clem Michaelson and Jason Weber.

"Omin, tell the new soldiers our purpose."

"To wage war against Muggles, Mudbloods, and their sympathizers!"

"Hear, hear," shouted Uthman, Miles, and Alvar.

"Daemon, what is our first rule?"

"The first rule is to always obey our leader."

"Who is your leader?"

"You are, sir!" The boys responded.

"Isaac, what's our second rule?"

"To never repeat what goes on in this room to anyone!"

"Timothy, what's our third rule?"

"To always refer to you as Sir or Leader in this room. _Never_ Tom!"

"Friedrich, what's our fourth rule?"

"To always provide our leader with one Sickle per week!"

"Or?"

"You will be severely punished!"

"Clem, Jason, do you still wish to join?"

They nodded their heads.

"Roll up your sleeves!" he barked.

They complied.

Tom removed the sharp dagger he had stolen from Hogsmeade from his pocket. He grabbed Jason by the arm and carved the letter "S" onto it. Jason yelled, and then burst into tears as blood dripped onto the dusty, littered floor.

Uthman snorted. "A little pansy, that one is."

Clem was shaking like a leaf when Tom grasped his forearm. He squeezed his eyes shut as Tom began to apply pressure to his skin with the point of the dagger. Clem burst into loud sobs as Tom sliced his skin open.

Miles shook his head. "Are you sure you want these babies in your army?"

"They'll be all right," Tom dismissively said as he wiped blood from the dagger.

Jason and Clem sniffed while attempting to stop the blood from flowing.

"Now, for my fee."

Friedrich, Timothy, Isaac, Daemon, and Omin each gave Tom a Sickle.

"Jason?"

Jason, with tears still on his face, fished in his pocket and retrieved a handful of coins. He found a Sickle amongst a number of Knuts and dropped it into Tom's outstretched hand.

"Clem?"

"I, I don't have mine, today."

Tom struck him across the face. Clem screamed and fell to the floor as blood gushed from his broken nose.

Tom stood over Clem as he bawled in agony and said, "Rule Number Five: Slytherin's soldiers are always prepared."

Then he turned to Isaac. "Take the little prat to Madam Salve to have his nose fixed. Make sure you tell the witch that the fool ran into a door as it was being opened. Also, make sure Clem says the same thing, understand?"

Isaac nodded. "Yes, Leader." He went over to the sobbing, bleeding Clem. "C'mon."

"The rest of you may leave. The meeting is over."

As the boys filed out the door, Alvar stepped up to Tom and winked at him. "I have to say, _Maestro_, that you have trained the pansies well."

Tom gave Alvar a half smile while staring at him with a shrewd expression on his face.

_Maestro_, he thought. _I like the sound of it_.

**********

The fourth year Slytherin boys were in their room late one night, with each cavorting in his private world. Tom was gazing at the photographs of his mother and thinking how remarkably Melia favoured her.

Uthman barged into the room and shattered their reverie. He was dragging his sister, Chloe, with him.

"Let go, Uthman!" she cried. Her silvery-blonde hair was wet as though she had just stepped out of a bath. She wore a thin bathrobe over her nightgown.

"_Shut up_!"

Then Uthman turned his attention to the boys in the room. "Do you want to be entertained by my sister?" he said with a wicked gleam in his eyes.

"Come. Let's see what you look like naked, Princess." Then he began to rip Chloe's bathrobe and nightgown from her shoulders as she struggled to escape.

Miles leapt from his bed and swiftly approached Uthman. "LET HER GO, MALFOY!"

Uthman's face contorted with rage. "SHE'S _MY_ SISTER. _Who are you_, _Miles_? Her rescuer? Her knight in shining armour?" Then he said in a low voice. "Are you in love with my sister, Miles?"

"Let her go. For God's sake, Malfoy, you always treat her like a damned Muggle! She's your _sister_."

"Aye, that's right. She's _my_ sister, Miles. I treat her the way she deserves."

"She does not deserve to be treated like a bloody Muggle!"

"If you only knew, Dougal, you...."

"Oh, I _know_, Malfoy. I know _everything_. I heard it from Rhiannon. You're jealous of your sister! You wish that it were _you_ who had almost died, so your parents could lavish affection on _you_. Yes, I know what happened, Uthman!"

He proceeded to share the tale with the rest of the boys in the room.

"When Chloe was three, an erkling found its way into the house and hid in her bedroom closet. She tried to tell her parents, but they thought she was trying to escape from being put to bed. They locked her in her room so she wouldn't get out. At first, they thought she was throwing a tantrum for being put to bed. Then they heard her screams become strangled. They went into her room and found the erkling in the crib _eating_ her.(1)

"Rhiannon said that Chloe was in St. Mungo's for _months_ while they reconstructed her. She almost _died_. Your parents buy her things and take her everywhere with them because they feel _guilty_, Uthman! They haven't forgiven themselves for locking her in a room with an erkling. Why don't you see that?"

Uthman glowered at Miles and loosened his grip on Chloe, who wept.

"You can go, Chloe," Miles said, gently.

She left the room.

Uthman slammed his fist against the wall and stalked out the door.

**********

He was in the room tidying the contents of his trunk when he heard the door softly close behind him. Tom whirled around and spotted a small girl gazing at him. He vaguely recalled seeing her in the common room on a few occasions. She was petite with elfin-like facial features; short, bright red hair in a boyish hairstyle; turquoise eyes; and freckles.

Tom stood up. "Who are you? What are you doing in here?"

In a surprisingly husky voice, she replied, "I'm Abigail Petra Orlen. I'm a first year who turned eleven on the seventh of September. Why am I here? I want to be a soldier in Slytherin's Army."

He gave her a penetrating stare. "There is no Slytherin's Army."

She stepped up to him and gazed up into his eyes. "You're a bloody liar, Tom Marvolo Riddle."

He hit her. She staggered from the blow but did not fall.

Gingerly she touched her right cheek, which bore the mark of a red handprint.

"I followed you and your soldiers a fortnight ago," she said. "None of you saw me. I stood listening outside the room you met in. You have two new soldiers: Clem Michaelson and Jason Weber. The purpose of Slytherin's Army is to wage war against Muggles and Mudbloods, and all those who support them. You are to be called Leader or Sir below the castle. Your soldiers must pay you one Sickle per week or be severely punished. Your fifth rule is to always be prepared."

He had to admire her. Instead, Tom knocked her to the floor. She winced as the back of her head connected with the stone. Then Tom straddled her as she heroically fought back tears.

"Who told you to follow me, Abigail?"

"No one."

"No one?"

"No one. I want to be a member of your army."

"What if I were to say no?" he said in a low, silky voice.

"Why? Because I'm a girl? I would make a better soldier than _half_ the boys in your army," she defiantly stated.

"Really?"

"Aye."

"I believe you would." He stood and helped her to her feet. "Our next meeting is this Friday, after supper. You already know the location.

"Don't disappoint me, Abigail."

"I won't."

Then she left.

**~~~~~~**

_**Note**: I have no idea how they wrote (the standard of English) prior to 992 A.D., supposedly when Salazar Slytherin was alive and well. So, please forgive my botched attempt (at the beginning of the chapter). Are there any (written) language historians in the audience?_

_(1)J.K. Rowling, Fantastic Beasts & Where To Find Them, (Scholastic Press, 2001), p15._


	5. Serpent

**_A/N_**_: I apologise for taking so long to post this chapter. This one took forever because (1) it's a very unnerving chapter and (2) I've been very ill recently (as in spending time in the hospital). _

**_Nemesis_**_: The references from Mein Kampf are indirect and very subtle. Hint: Think of what Hitler thought of Jews before he came to power (shortly after he left his home, after both parents had died). Okay, I will not argue with you about which fic deserves more awards. Let's call this a stalemate. ^_~ I started to read yours awhile back, but was afraid that it would influence mine so I stopped. Now, that my Riddle is hopelessly irredeemable, I can return to reading your story. I promise to be a responsible reviewer. _

**_Clem & Co_**_: Oops! *ducks* I'm sorry; I wasn't thinking of you at all! The name just popped into my head. Sometimes, my characters choose their own names. Think of my Clem as a totally different Clem. On the bright side: I don't have any plans for Clem to suffer more at the hands of Riddle. However, sometimes, Riddle takes over me and forces me to write things that I did not plan to write. Keep this in mind when you read this chapter. ;-) _

**_Iphigenia_**_: Ohhh, he gets worse. Definitely. I will say no more. _

**_Chimaera_**_: LOL. If you are reading this between 11 P.M. and 6 A.M., stop NOW. Turn off the computer. Oh, I deliberately had Salazar incorrectly use the words, hath and doth. Have you noticed that people who think they are far better than others usually have a_ _major flaw they completely do not see? Anywho, Salazar talks on and on about how Muggles lack intelligence, but he doesn't know that it is "hath" and "doth" until his other book, Slytherin's Selective Hogwarts. Thanks for sharing your grandmother's account of the war. I couldn't find any literature from a civilian's viewpoint on the Battle of Britain, so I used my overactive and vivid imagination to fill in the details. Thanks a million for letting me know I wasn't off the mark. *hugs* _

**_All_**_: Many hugs and kisses for continuing to read this depressingly dark fic, and enjoying it. :-D xox _

**_Warning_**_: Violence (of course), animal cruelty (of course), and perversions ahead. _

_**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter ideas, characters, and places do not belong to me. They belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Brothers._

**~~~~~~**

_**Immortalis Dominus Dominatus**_

**Part I: _Alpha_**

**by Auror5**

**~~~~~~**

**Chapter IV: Serpent**

He spotted the diminutive, redheaded first year in the crowded corridor between lessons as she passed a window displaying a mid-December snowstorm. Tom reached the girl, and gently tugged on the straps of her bag to capture her attention.

Abigail Orlen glanced up and smiled. She was pleased to see the tall, handsome fourth year walking beside her. Several older girls jealously eyed her with disapproving faces. Feeling smug, Abigail haughtily lifted her chin and moved a little closer to Tom. Their black robes occasionally brushed together as they strolled the corridor.

"Abby, I have a special assignment for you," he eventually said in a low voice.

"What is it?" she replied without looking up at him.

"I need a strand of Melia's hair."

"All right."

She would do anything for Tom.

**********

Professor Parry grouped them into pairs for Duelling Lesson. The Slytherins had class with the Ravenclaws.

Tom faced Colby Pinstripe, his partner.

"Now, bow!" ordered Parry.

Tom bent slightly while keeping his eyes locked onto Pinstripe.

"Wands at ready!"

He raised his wand as though it were a sword.

"On the count of three, cast your spells.

"One...

"Two...

"Three!"

He was fast. Before Pinstripe could open his mouth, Tom hurled his spell.

"_Finite Incantatem_," Parry shouted.

The professor walked over to each pair to ensure that neither partner was harmed by the charm or curse that was cast.

Parry approached Tom with a baffled expression on his face. "Riddle, where is your partner?"

"He should be arriving at any moment, sir."

"_What?_" Parry said at the same time as Pinstripe barged into the room.

Panting slightly as though he had been running, Pinstripe furiously shouted at Parry, "Professor, Riddle didn't play fair. He used a Banishment Charm to send me to Transfiguration lessons."

Loud muttering erupted in the classroom.

"He did?" Parry turned to Tom in amazement.

"Sir, Professor Dumbledore was not happy that I interrupted his lesson!"

Several students snickered.

Indignant, Pinstripe added, "Sir, I _landed_ on Professor Dumbledore's _lap_!"

A number of students laughed, Parry smiled, and Tom grinned.

"Don't worry, Mr. Pinstripe. There was no harm done."

"But, sir..."

"I will speak with Albus to smooth things over. All right?"

Pinstripe made no comment but glared at Tom.

Parry clapped his hands together in a business-like fashion and said to the students, "Let's start again, shall we?"

"Sir, I want a different partner," said Pinstripe.

Frowning, Parry replied, "Why?"

"I don't like him," he responded in a clipped manner. "I think something's wrong with him. I want another partner."

Seething with hatred, Tom gazed steadily at Pinstripe's back.

"I strongly disagree with your unflattering sentiment, Pinstripe. Mr. Riddle is a model student and is, by far, the best I have ever seen at duelling. Contrary to your _opinion_, he _does_ plays fair and by the rules. Yes, I imagine it must have been quite humiliating to find yourself on Professor Dumbledore's lap but the _Extradition_ Charm was fair. Mr. Riddle did not break any rules by placing it on you. In fact, I would say that he was a genius. Mr. Riddle executed it _extraordinarily_ well for a fourth year. That particular charm is _very_ advanced sorcery. Few in the magical community can actually carry it out. However, if you feel adamant about changing partners...."

"I do, sir."

"Very well." Then Parry glanced around the room. "Miss Reese and Mr. Rudyard, you two are changing partners. Reese, Riddle is now your partner. Rudyard, Pinstripe is yours."

With an unreadable expression on his face, Tom watched Pinstripe walk swiftly over to where Cole was standing.

Sheena Reese, an exotic appearing black girl, reached Tom and shyly said, "Hullo."

He gave her an ingratiating smile.

**********

Nude and sitting cross-legged on the rocky floor, Tom checked to ensure the preparations were nearly complete. He had discovered this cave-like room several weeks ago while attempting to locate the Chamber of Secrets. It was in a partially blocked corridor deep below the castle. The floor was damp and slick with mould. Occasionally, bats swooped in through a sharply inclined tunnel to circle slightly below the craggy ceiling. The whisperings of the nocturnal birds' onionskin-like wings soothed him. The Christmas holidays had begun.

Tom was bored with stalking, torturing, and killing small, inconsequential animals. He wanted to try his hand at something larger. He wanted a challenge and a worthwhile conquest. Most especially, he wanted to denigrate what was considered taboo in the magical world to prove that the rules did not apply to him. To be the greatest sorcerer who ever lived, which was Tom's aspiration, he would have to be daring and bold. Everyone must bow down to him. He had to conquer everything within his domain. Not capitulating to anyone was important. It was his only way to survive, his only way to continue living.

Two cauldrons, each containing a substance simmering over a conjured up fire, were before him. A small pile of clothing Abigail had stolen for him was in the corner of the dim chamber. The light from the flames threw strange, writhing, dark shapes across the walls and ceiling.

Tom quickly reread the passage from Dark Majick of The Ancients. He was ready.

"_Eye of fedonamem to deceiveth mine enemy_..."

He threw a small, red-veined orb into the cauldron filled with an oily, black substance. Immediately, the contents' colour became a vivid orange. A hissing sound followed.

"_Heart of pondhil shieldeth mine soul_..."

Tom opened a small, bloodstained cloth and dropped what appeared to be a slab of pulsating meat into the cauldron.

The liquid bubbled violently and turned a vibrant sea green colour.

"_Soul of mine perceiveth not; mine enemy perceiveth its own echoed soul_.

"_Hair of unicorn, I defineth mine enemy_."

He threw the hair into the cauldron, and the contents silently imploded in a blinding white flash. Tom clapped his hands over his eyes. Several seconds later, the light was gone and the liquid was clear. Tom ladled the potion into a goblet and then drank from it.

Stooping, he walked over to the cauldron that was still waiting. Tom ladled the murky brown liquid into the goblet. Then he dropped a strand of human silk into it. The potion sizzled and foamed. Then the colour changed to a bright, lemony yellow. He drained the potion from the goblet.

Immediately, a cramping and writhing sensation seized his insides. Tom doubled-up as a burning sensation washed over him. Very quickly, it was replaced by a feeling of intense itching. Shortly after, he began to feel as though he were shrinking. Tom moaned.

Then the process abruptly ceased. Tom lay curled up on the floor. He stretched, slowly stood, and surveyed the chamber. Everything in the room, including the room itself, appeared larger. The cauldrons were not so far below him.

He went over to the pile of clothing in the corner and hurriedly put them on. Tom only had one hour. He hoped Wilda was hiding near the edge of the Forbidden Forest so that she could see him.

Tom swiftly climbed the tunnel leading to the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Once outside, he glanced around to make sure that he was not being followed. At a swift pace, he entered the Forbidden Forest. Unlike the vast majority of Hogwarts students, Tom had no fear of the forest or what it contained.

"_Lumos_."

It was not necessary to light his wand for the moon was full and the night cloudless, but Tom did it for Wilda's benefit. He was glad that there had been a recent string of several unusually warm days. Most of the snow had melted, and what was left could only be found in shadows and at the base of trees. The lack of snow made it easier for him to pick out the faint path.

Tom manufactured some tears and cried plaintively.

Eventually, a unicorn appeared. He wondered if the charm would work. The unicorn, dazzling in the moonlight, stopped a few paces from him. Undecided, it pawed at the ground with one of its forelegs and threw back its head a few times. Then it approached Tom, and lowered its head toward him. Tom reached out and touched the glorious beast.

"Would you like an apple?" he said in a soft, child-like voice.

He reached into his pocket and drew out an apple slice. The unicorn's nostrils flared with eagerness at the smell of the sweet fruit.

Tom fed the beast the apple. At that moment, a large serpent silently slithered up behind the distracted unicorn. Suddenly, the unicorn's head jerked up and the last bit of apple fell from its mouth onto the ground. As the unicorn prepared to flee, the snake's mouth yawned open and it sank its venomous fangs into the beast's hindquarters. The unicorn let out a high-pitched scream. Then it ran stumbling through the forest. Tom pursued after it. The beast's movement was slow due to the poison rapidly working through its body.

He eventually caught up with the creature. It stood in a clearing, bathed in moonlight. The unicorn's head drooped as though its horn were suddenly too heavy. Its sides heaved as it gasped for air. The creature stumbled. Then its legs crumpled up under it, and the beast fell onto the ground to lie on its side. Tom approached it while removing a sharp, twelve-inch dagger from the pocket of the robe he wore. The unicorn lifted its head slightly and peered at Tom as though he were being marked for future reference. Tom then plunged the dagger into the unicorn's abdomen and proceeded to eviscerate it. Silvery-blue blood stained his hands and clothing.

Tom turned to the serpent lying docilely nearby.

"You've done well, Wilda. This is for you." He handed the warm, bloody heart to the snake.

She seized the morsel, even though it was not alive as she would have preferred, and swallowed. "Thank you, Massster."

Tom waved his wand and the snake disappeared in a cloud of smoke.

He rose to return to the castle.

**********

Back in the chamber, he removed the bloodstained outer clothing and burned them. In about ten minutes, he would return to his true form.

He went and stood before the mirror that was left in the forgotten room. Tom gazed at the image of the pretty, eleven-year-old girl wearing only knickers. Then he ran his hand through the long, silky, black ringlets that fell halfway down his back.

An idea occurred to him while staring at the girl's reflection. Tom was curious. He had never seen a naked girl. He slowly removed the last article of clothing. Standing nude before the mirror, his eyes and hands explored Melia's body until the Polyjuice Potion began to wear off.

**********

Not wishing to be disturbed, Tom was reading a book in a dimly lit corner of the common room when Isaac came to him.

"Erm, Friedrich can't join us tonight."

"Why?" he replied, irritably.

"Erm, I don't know."

"Liar. Bring Friedrich to me."

A few minutes later, Friedrich appeared before him with eyes full of fear.

Tom smiled at him. "Isaac tells me that you will not join us later. Is that true?"

He nodded.

"Why?"

"Pro-Professor Steinway g-gave me de-detention."

"What for?"

"For pushing a Mudblood down a flight of stares," he said, half-defiantly.

A lopsided grin appeared on Tom's face. "You did?"

Friedrich nodded his head vigorously.

"Did the filthy Mudblood get hurt?"

"She broke her leg. I have to help the gamekeeper tonight for my detention."

"So it was _you_ who lost our house one hundred points," he replied in a half-musing tone.

Friedrich offered no reply.

"You ought to be rewarded. The Mudblood should be thankful she's still alive. Because of your detention for a worthy deed, you are excused from the meeting.

"Our next Hogsmeade visit is in about a fortnight. What would you like as a reward?"

"Erm..." He glanced over at Isaac. "A packet of Merlin's Crystals? They don't cost much."

"All right."

Isaac and Friedrich turned to leave.

"Friedrich."

The second year turned.

"Next time, don't be such a bloody coward. I have no use for cowards. Also, make sure that your next detention isn't during one of my meetings.

"And Friedrich, don't arrive at the next meeting without _two_ Sickles."

**********

"Blimey! Look at the Mountain Boy," said Omin Strick in awe.

Tom switched his focus from Melia Conrad to the Gryffindor table.

Hagrid ate directly from the serving bowls, which contained enough portions for at least thirty students. There were two empty platters in front of him.

"He's like a giant pig, isn't he?" said Thelma Ransom, a fourth year Slytherin.

Staring at Hagrid with contempt, Zephyrus Baird said, "He shouldn't _be_ here. Mudbloods and people like him should not be _allowed_ in Hogwarts."

"Miles, pass me the steak," ordered Tom.

Miles obliged and stated, "The Founders made a mistake when they decided to let non-purebloods into Hogwarts."

Tom bristled at Miles comment.

"Aye," agreed a sixth year sitting nearby, "too bad Slytherin didn't have his way."

"Uthman, pass me the meatloaf," said Tom imperiously.

Alvar noted that Tom always avoided soups, milk, bread, oranges, and porridge. It seemed that he only preferred meat.

**********

Late that night, when everyone was asleep, Tom silently rose from his bed and went over to the four-poster where Miles slept. He pulled back the curtains, pointed his wand at the sleeping teen, and muttered two words.

The following morning, Miles awoke unable to see. His screams of terror alarmed the entire house. Miles' unexplained blindness lasted three days.

**********

Standing outside the Three Broomsticks, the cluster of girls watched as the group of boys approached their location. They whispered amongst themselves and occasionally giggled behind their hands.

Tom, projecting an air of superiority, slightly led the procession of boys to the Three Broomsticks. The girls who watched surreptitiously close by absorbed his image like thick cotton swallowing a liquid. He embodied the unconscious and conscious fantasy lurking in many girls' dreams of the tall, dark, handsome stranger promising mystery; bravery; arresting charm; thrilling danger; and a hint of forbidden pleasure.

Uthman and Miles flanked him. Immediately behind them were Alvar, Max LaSalle, Jordan Towshipp of Ravenclaw, Bertram Greeneye of Hufflepuff, the Strick twins, and Kyle Toadstool of Hufflepuff. The girls' giggles increased as Tom and his followers reached the Three Broomsticks.

"Oi, Tom," a fourth year Gryffindor called out as Tom entered the pub.

He ignored her.

Uthman barely glanced at the blushing third year Hufflepuff who shyly greeted him as he walked through the doorway.

**********

Tom and his friends sat at a table in the Three Broomsticks sipping butterbeer, eating sweets, and talking of war, girls, Muggles, and hexes. Suddenly, everyone's attention was diverted to a chubby girl wearing spectacles.

"I _hate_ you, Olive Hornby!" the girl sobbed. "You're a horrible, wicked girl!"

The girl she directed this outburst to laughed contemptuously and said, "Poor fat, thick, _ugly_, four-eyed Myrtle whom nobody likes." Then she added in a mockingly sweet voice, "Why don't you go to the Muggle world where you belong? Go on fat, ugly _cow_. You would fit in better with Muggles."

"_I'm not ugly_," screamed Myrtle Specter.

"Yes, you are, you fat _pig_!" Hornby threw some sweets at Specter. "Take those to your trough."

Specter cried and ran toward the door as Hornby and her friends laughed.

As Specter passed the table where Tom and his friends sat, Miles stuck out his foot. She tripped over it and fell ungainly to the floor.

A number of students laughed aloud.

A bespectacled, sixth year prefect with long, straight, black hair and an aristocratic demeanor went over to assist the bawling Specter to her feet.

"_Honestly_, it is not funny!" the prefect glared at the nearby students. She returned her attention to Specter whose bottom lip was bleeding from a tiny laceration. "Are you all right?"

Uthman snorted and said, "_Of course_, Miss Four-Eyed Piggy is all right."

Specter wailed louder, and the prefect glared at Uthman.

"That will be fifty points from Slytherin for your nasty remark, Malfoy," she said, icily.

"Oh come now, McGonagall," exclaimed Max, "fifty points? That's a bit harsh, don't you think?"

"No," Minerva McGonagall snapped.

"Typical of a Gryffindor," muttered Alvar.

"Does Slytherin wish to have more points removed?" McGonagall said in a low voice. "Because if any of you open your stupid mouths again, I will remove _one hundred_ points from your house. Understand?"

Miles, Uthman, Alvar, and Max glowered at her.

"Come on." McGonagall gently beckoned the still crying Specter.

As McGonagall and Specter reached the door, McGonagall looked over her shoulder and shouted, "That will also be fifty points from _your_ house, Hornby."

**********

Before the meeting adjourned, Tom made an announcement.

"From this day forward, down here, you will refer to me as 'Lord' or 'Master,' understand?"

The "soldiers" nodded their heads.

"No more 'Sir' or 'Leader.' It's 'Lord' or 'Master.' Don't forget. You may leave."

The chamber rapidly emptied of Slytherin's Army. Tom grabbed Abigail's arm as she stepped out and pulled her back into the chamber. He closed the door.

"I have another special assignment for you."

"All right. What do I have to do?"

"I want you to watch Melia for me."

She frowned slightly.

"You share a room with Melia and have all your lessons with her. So, you will be my eyes and ears. I want to know _everything_."

"I don't understand, Ss...I mean, Lord."

"Tell me what Melia does, what she likes, who are her friends, who she doesn't like, her favourite food, everything."

"She _loves_ daffodils. That's why everyone calls her Daffy. Her best friends are Rivers Tyndalle and Ophelia Gloomis."

"What else?"

"Erm, her favourite lessons are Charms, Transfiguration, and Herbology. Oh, she likes Quidditch, too. She hopes to become a Chaser one day. She doesn't like that Gryffindor girl, Harriet Pritchard." Abigail wrinkled her freckled nose. "No one does. Pritchard thinks she's so smart, and always looks down her nose at us."

"Where does Melia live?"

"Erm, I think she lives in Eyemouth. I don't quite remember, but I know she lives in Scotland."

"Very good, Abby. I'll bring you back some sweets from Hogsmeade on our next visit." He went to open the door. "Periodically, I will ask you about Melia. Make sure you do your assignment well."

She started to leave the chamber but then hesitated. Abigail turned to gaze up at Tom.

"T-...Lord, I was wondering if," she glanced shyly down at her feet, "we could pretend that you're my big brother. Please? I don't have any brothers or sisters. It's just me and my grandmother."

"Abby, I'm your Lord and you're my servant."

Her face fell with disappointment. "But...."

"No," he said, firmly. "Pretend that I am your Lord and Master, nothing else."

With a hurt expression on her face, Abigail left.

**********

Tom spent nearly twenty-one hours in his private chamber below the castle without food or drink trying to come up with his new name. If he planned to become the greatest sorcerer who ever lived, he could not possibly go by his Muggle father's name.

Approaching twenty-one hours, he began rearranging the letters of his given name, Tom Marvolo Riddle. He wanted a name that would later inspire dread in the ones who heard it. Tom wanted a name that wizards and witches around the world would one day fear to speak.

The first time he rearranged the letters of his name, he ended up with this hideous result: Mortdred Mirdolov.

The second time, he came up with something suitable for a wizard family's ghoul: Dervom Tormadoll.

The third permutation resulted in something that would likely evoke laughter, not fear: Vort Middlelom.

His fourth rearrangement yielded a result he would likely encounter in a child's fantasy book: Lord Drolomet. An image of an angelic appearing prince with blond curls instantly came to his mind. Disgusted, he started over again and came up with Lord Meldovort.

As the bats swooped low and the fire in the cave became nearly extinct, Tom rearranged, for the final time, the letters of the name that was given to him by his dying mother.

LORD VOLDEMORT

Tom said it aloud. _Lord Voldemort_. He repeated it as though he were tasting it. _Lord Voldemort_. He grinned and whispered to the bats overhead, "_I am Lord Voldemort_."

**********

On the train ride to King's Cross, Tom pondered over, in his mind, the clues he had so far on the Chamber of Secrets. He reckoned that the chamber must be somewhere below the castle, but he still could not figure out what was meant by "where water springeth forth." Tom decided that the monster in the chamber must have been a serpent. It was logical since Slytherin was a Parselmouth, and likely he would want a beast that he alone could easily control. Tom wondered what type of serpent it could have been as there were many that could easily kill a human.

"Tom," said Max LaSalle, "you never told us why you were down in your dungeon for so long a fortnight ago. Come, tell us."

"I was choosing my new name."

"Eh?" said Alvar.

"I gave myself a new name."

"What is it?" replied Uthman.

Tom gazed intently at each boy in the compartment: Uthman, Miles, Alvar, Max, and Jordan. He considered them to be his intimate friends. All of them were generals in his army.

"I cannot tell you unless I know that I can trust you. I need to know whether I have your loyalty."

"Isn't it obvious, Tom?" exclaimed Alvar. "We haven't mentioned to anyone about your army or the chamber beneath the castle. We keep it between ourselves, don't we?" Alvar looked at the other boys.

They nodded their heads.

"Aye," Jordan responded. "What more must we do to prove that you _have_ our loyalty and can trust us?"

Tom sighed. "All right. Like everything discussed between us, don't share it with anyone else. I want to become the most powerful wizard who has ever lived, as you know, but Tom Marvolo Riddle is an unworthy name. Lord Riddle?" He grimaced. "Indeed not. I am _Lord Voldemort_. When we are alone, refer to me as Lord Voldemort, understand?"

The boys glanced at each other and shrugged.

"All right," they said in unison.

**********

**... Summer 1941: Year Three of the Second Great Muggle War ...**

Tom noticed that St. Cuthbert's Orphanage for Boys had acquired a significant number of new cases. The makeup of the orphanage staff had also changed while he had been gone. Most of the members were new faces. Tom was surprised to see several women on the staff, but they were no friendlier than their male counterparts. It pleased him that they no longer had to sleep in the basement as the air raids had become infrequent since the Germans retreated. However, the boys still had to carry their gas masks with them to and from the factory. The only item that remained unchanged was the quality of their rations.

******

He and the rest of the teens returned to their crowded wing after a meager supper. The boys ignored Tom. As far as they were concerned, he did not really exist. While his fellow orphans talked amongst themselves or quietly played board games, Tom lay supine on his cot reminiscing of the past. He remembered that when he was five years old a couple adopted him and took him into their home. A fortnight later, he was returned to Ste. Catherine's Orphanage. The man and woman claimed that he was possessed by the devil, that he inexplicably set the bathroom on fire; screamed and attacked viciously when they attempted to discipline him; and tortured the puppy that was given to him as a present. When he was around seven years old, another family adopted him. Less than a month later, he was returned to St. Cuthbert's. They accused Tom of incinerating the barn; torturing the piglets; breaking their four-year-old son's arm; and stabbing the woman with a knife. After that, no one asked for him.

Two staff members barging into the room startled Tom and the boys. The two, large, greying men rushed up to Tom's cot and roughly yanked him onto his feet. They then marched him swiftly out of the wing and down the corridor. He apathetically wondered what he had done to merit his upcoming punishment. They shoved him into the Whipping Room.

"Strip!" Kelvin snarled while glaring at him.

Tom sighed and removed his clothing. Afterwards, he turned to the wall and gripped the metal handlebars projecting from it.

"What did I do? Can you tell me that?" he said in a tired voice.

"You bloody, f---ing demon brought a filthy owl belonging to one of Satan's minions into our sanctified home. So you shall receive the punishment you deserve."

Yul then struck Tom forcefully between the shoulder blades.

Tom hissed in pain, and clamped his jaws together so that he would not cry out.

Yul continued to strike him with the thick, wooden cane until Tom passed out.

**********

Standing outside the Hogwarts Express, on platform nine and three-quarters, Drakonis Slytherin gave pale and thin, fifteen-year-old Tom an envelope which clearly had been already opened.

"Congratulations, boy. You were made a prefect."

Then he left.

Tom lifted his trunk, stepped on the train, and found a compartment occupied by Miles and Jordan.

"Hullo, Tom!" exclaimed Jordan brightly. "Pleased to see you, chap."

Tom glanced at Jordan and placed his trunk in an overhead bin.

At that moment, Uthman and Alvar entered the compartment followed by Max LaSalle.

"Lord Voldemort," said Alvar, "how were your holidays? Quite miserable with the filthy Muggles, I gather?"

"Shut up, Al," replied Tom as he opened the envelope.

_Dear Mr. Riddle, _

_Congratulations! You have been selected to represent the Slytherin fifth years as a prefect. Your selection was based on your outstanding marks and exemplary deportment. During the first week of school, you will receive more information regarding your role and responsibilities. Meanwhile, we ask that you wear the enclosed Prefect badge at all times while in Hogwarts. _

_Your fellow fifth year prefects are Luke Marchworthy and Arianne Ford of Gryffindor, Thomas Breadwinner of Hufflepuff, and Sheena Reese of Ravenclaw. This year's Head Boy and Head Girl are Trevor Bloomington of Hufflepuff and Minerva McGonagall of Gryffindor. _

_Again, congratulations on your selection! _

_Albus Dumbledore, _

Albus Dumbledore

_Deputy Headmaster _

Tom smiled while admiring the prefect badge.

"What's that, Lord Voldemort?" inquired Miles as the train began to move.

"My Prefect badge." He displayed it for them to see.

His friends clapped and whistled.

Max winked at Tom and said, "Go easy on our house, eh?"

He grinned at him in response.

"Bad form! What about my house?" said Jordan indignantly.

Uthman snorted. "What about it?"

"Should he also go easy on the Ravenclaws? I'm one of his _friends_."

Tom smirked. "You will have to talk to Reese about that. I'm giving Ravenclaw no favours. After all, Towshipp, our houses are after the same prize: the House Cup."

**********

A few days after the start of the school year, Abigail went up to Tom as he sat in the common room with his friends.

"Hullo, Tom," she said, shyly.

Uthman, Miles, Alvar, and Max smirked.

"What do you want, Abby?"

"Erm, I was wondering why you didn't come to my party. I hoped that you would come, but you never showed up." In an injured tone, she added, "You didn't even owl me back to say that you _couldn't_ come."

Tom frowned. "What party? I didn't hear of any party."

"I sent you my owl, Thebes. I'm sure he delivered my invitation. My party was on the fifteenth of July. I waited for you to show up, but you _didn't_."

He stiffened and then forced a congenial smile on his face. "I'm sorry, Abby. I didn't receive your party invitation. I would have come if I had. Thank you for thinking of me."

"Oh." She frowned slightly. "I'm sorry you didn't get it. You can come to my next party." Then she completely startled Tom into uncharacteristic inaction by lightly kissing him on the cheek.

The boys noted Abigail's scarlet face as she fled from the room.

"Oh dear," Max whispered with a teasing glint in his eyes. "Lord Voldemort, I do believe little Miss Orlen _fancies_ you."

Tom leapt up from the chair he was sitting on and gruffly stated, "Uthman, remind everyone that our first meeting will be next Wednesday, after supper."

He rapidly exited the Slytherin dungeon for the library.

**********

One by one, they stepped up to Tom to pay him the obligatory Sickle. Alvar, Max, Uthman, Miles, and Jordan gazed upon the scene with amusement.

"Lord, sir, I have news to report," piped up second year Clem Michaelson. "I forgot about it earlier."

"What is it?"

"I heard an older boy say in the corridors that you shouldn't be a prefect."

"Who was it?"

Clem shrugged. "I don't know, Master. Jason and I were on our way to Charms, weren't we?"

Jason Weber nodded his head vigorously.

"I told Jason about it when were in Charms. He didn't hear him."

"Do you remember what he looked like?"

"Aye. He was tall, but not like you. He had brown hair, a pointy nose, and blue eyes. He was talking to that dark girl with the yellow eyes."

"And what did she say?"

"Erm, nothing, I think. They kept walking."

"Did the boy have a birthmark in the shape of a broom on the side of his neck?"

"Aye, he did!"

Thoughtfully, Tom remarked, "Pinstripe. I will deal with him."

"Did I do well, Master?"

"Yes, you did, Clem."

The boy beamed.

"Abby, come here," ordered Tom.

From the back of the chamber, she moved toward Tom.

Once Abigail stood in front of him, he demanded that she strip.

"Wh-_What_?"

"You heard me, Abby."

"Bu-But what did I do?" she said with a stricken expression on her face.

"Abby, do as you are told."

Her face crumpled up and she tearfully exclaimed, "But I'm a _girl_, Tom!"

He struck her across the face and she fell to the floor.

"Get up, Abby!"

Sobbing, she awkwardly rose to her feet.

"Now, _strip_!"

Abigail stood where she was without complying. "I'm a _girl_! All of you are...."

Tom knocked her back down to the floor with a blow to her head. Then Tom yanked Abigail onto her feet by her short, bright hair. Blood flowed from her nose and mouth.

"_Abby_, _don't make me ask you again_," he said in a low, even voice.

Nearly choking on her sobs, Abigail began to remove her clothes. The boys watched intently and with anticipation.

Abigail stood before the boys wearing only her flower-printed knickers. Her hands concealed what she did not have on her chest.

"Remove your knickers, Abby," said Tom in a low voice.

All of the boys in the room gazed at her with bright eyes.

"Abby, you have a choice: either _you_ drop your knickers or _I_ will." He slowly removed a coiled whip from the pocket of his robe.

Burning with shame and humiliation, Abigail removed her underwear while the boys watched. She quickly covered her privates with her hands.

"Turn around, Abby, and put your hands on the wall." Tom partially uncoiled the whip he had pilfered from Hogsmeade. It was designed for use on dragons.

He lashed the whip across her back. She shrieked and nearly fell. Blood instantly welled up in the raw stripe that marked her formerly unblemished skin.

"Never, _ever_, send me an owl without my permission!" A blow to Abigail's back punctuated each syllable.

Tom struck her again, and she fell to the floor unconscious. Blood sluggishly dripped onto the stone. He recoiled the whip and placed it in his pocket while fighting for breath control.

"Come. Let's go," he told the boys once he had control of himself. "I have to finish my History of Magic essay."

"We're just going to leave her here?" inquired Friedrich with a worried frown.

"Never mind her. She needs to learn a lesson. She won't die, I assure you. Now, let's _go_."

As they entered the corridor, Jordan quietly remarked in a tremulous voice, "_Crickey_. That was _brutal_, Lord Voldemort. She's only a little _girl_."

"No one gets special treatment from me, Towshipp," Tom hissed.

**********

On a day in early October, after supper, Tom furtively watched Melia and her friends attempt to sort out an assignment. He noted that Melia was becoming increasingly frustrated by how often she ran her hands down the side of her face. Tom slowly rose from the chair in a darkened corner of the room and went over to where the three girls sat.

"Hullo. It looks like you three need help with your assignment, eh?"

The girls looked up at him as he grabbed a chair from an unoccupied table and placed it at theirs.

"What are you three working on?"

"Charms," promptly answered Ophelia Gloomis.

"We have an exam tomorrow but we still don't know how to do the Yawning Charm," added Rivers Tyndalle.

Tom removed the wand from his pocket, pointed it at Ophelia, and lazily said, "_Oscito_."

Ophelia yawned. About three seconds later, she did it again. Melia and Rivers smiled. Tom observed that when Melia smiled a dimple appeared near the left corner of her mouth.

He redirected his attention to Ophelia and said, "_Fin_."

She stopped yawning.

"The trick is to focus your concentration on the person you want to put the charm. Of course, you must pronounce the spell correctly; else, it won't work."

He turned to Melia. "Here. Why don't you give it a try?"

Melia's eyes widened as she stared across at her best friend, Rivers.

"C'mon, don't be shy," he coaxed.

She giggled and pointed her wand at Rivers. "_Yawn_," Melia shouted.

The girls collapsed into laughter.

After the girls' mirth subsided, Tom softly said to Melia, "What's your name?" while watching her closely.

"Melia."

"All right, Melia, let's try this again, eh? Remember what I told you."

She took at deep breath, gazed at Rivers while pointing her wand at her, and slowly said, "_Oscito_."

Rivers yawned several times in succession.

Melia jumped up and down while exclaiming, "I did it! I did it!"

Tom smiled and gently grabbed the exuberant second year by the arm. He pulled her close to him. "Now you can help me teach your friends, eh?"

Smiling, she nodded her head vigorously. Then she gasped, "I _did_ it."

About a half-hour later, all three girls were able to perform the charm flawlessly each time.

**********

"My father attended Durmstrang. I wanted to go there, too, but since we live in Wales I had to come here. Father said that Durmstrang doesn't allow Mudbloods in its walls. Father's family moved to Great Britain from Bulgaria when he was only a lad like me. Then he met Mother. My father's entire family is very wealthy, even the ones who still live in Bulgaria. Grandfather is on Durmstrang's Governors' Board. I'm the only heir to my parents' wealth. We have six house-elves. Oh..." Edmund Dulovo turned to the boys who stared at him in captivated astonishment. "If you don't have enough money to give our master, you can ask me. Father and Mother send me enough money to pay for _everyone_ in this chamber. I have ten...."

"Oh shut your f---ing, ever flapping gob!"

Edmund immediately complied while sheepishly glancing down at his feet.

Tom regretted allowing the first year into his ranks. He found Edmund to be an exceedingly annoying, insufferable prat. Tom believed Edmund's only redeeming quality to be the amount of money he had. It was easy for him to manipulate the boy into giving him a few Galleons per week.

Edmund Dulovo, a blonde, blue-eyed boy who looked too much like a girl, was one of the three new soldiers, all first year Slytherins, the army gained a few weeks ago. The other two were: chubby, bespectacled Brett Mitchell and Garret Oblong, a handsome boy full of jokes featuring Muggles and giants.

"All right," Tom said, bored. "Remember your assignment. Slytherin wants to win the House Cup this year. For us to win, the other houses must lose. How else can we help them lose besides winning our Quidditch matches?"

"We can find out which rules they're breaking!" the "soldiers" answered in unison.

"Why?"

"So our Lord can remove points from their houses!"

"Good. You may leave now."

They noisily filed out of the chamber. Tom grabbed Abigail as she passed him and pulled her back into the room. Her face was unusually pale, which made her freckles even more prominent. Since Tom disciplined her, she had been uncharacteristically quiet and subdued. She avoided contact with him whenever possible. During the meetings, when the rest of the boys yelled or shouted their responses, she mumbled. Half-heartedly, she would drop her payment into his outstretched hand. Tom had not received any worthwhile reports from her in weeks. Inwardly, he had to concede to the fact that she had been one of his better soldiers.

Once everyone had left, he closed the door to the chamber.

"I have something for you, Abby."

She stared at the floor, with her pale face devoid of emotion.

He squatted on his heels before her.

Tom reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, square box. "This is for you." He opened the clasp and revealed a gold necklace with an emerald green serpent pendant dangling from it. Tom then placed it over her head and around her neck.

"Thank you," she whispered while staring at and fingering the pendant.

Pretending that she was Melia, Tom kissed her on the mouth.

Her face scarlet, Abigail flinched backward in surprise.

Softly, he said, "Abby, do you still want to pretend that I'm your big brother?"

She shrugged, and then shook her head.

"Your lover?"

If it could be imagined, her face reddened further. "No."

"Perhaps you ought to think about it. I wouldn't discipline my lover." He stood. "You're free to go."

Abigail fled from the chamber like a deer being pursued by a pack of wolves.

**********

Late one Saturday night in early November, Tom silently roamed the castle on a quest for the Chamber of Secrets. Occasionally, he would mutter aloud to himself, "Where water springeth forth. Where would water springeth forth? The kitchens? The toilets?" He reckoned that the chamber had to be below the castle. Tom was running out of places to look. Already, he was starting to tread previously covered ground. In the gloom, he spotted a faintly glowing door ahead of him. Tom reached it and grasped the doorknob. It was locked. He removed his wand from his pocket, pointed it at the door, and said, "_Alohomora_."

The door swung open and revealed a spacious room seemingly filled with swirling, brilliant white clouds. Puzzled, Tom stepped inside. The chamber was slightly chilly. Boldly, he penetrated the cloudy depths.

_What is this_? he thought.

The clouds began swirling around him at a faster rate while alternately changing from green to silver in colour. Tom began to feel a sense of vertigo. Very soon, he realised that he was at the centre of a vortex. He closed his eyes to shut out the mad spinning. When he reopened them, he shouted out in wonder and surprise.

He was standing on a grassy hill in a place where he had never been. The wind pulled at his long, black cloak. There was something covering his face. He reached up and encountered a wooden surface. Tom removed the object from his face and turned it over in his hand. It was the Greek mask of tragedy. The sun dipped below the horizon and he was plunged into blackness.

Then the world was filled with light again, and he found himself in a forest. A large serpent circled him. Then he spotted dark-robed figures silently marching toward him. Their hoods masked their faces. Each halted before coming directly up to him, fell prostrate to the ground, and kissed the hem of his robe.

Darkness fell. It did not matter for he could see quite clearly. In fact, Tom realised with growing pleasure that he could actually see through solid objects. He laughed aloud. A thousand owls suddenly fluttered up into the night sky, riding on the current of his high, cold mirth.

It was day, again. An opponent was pursuing him. Tom ran like the wind, and hid in a cave full of vampire bats. They were no danger to him, but he was wary of the one who vowed to defeat him. His foe caught up with him but it could not see him in the cave. Tom's enemy was the phoenix circling high in the sky while filling the atmosphere with its eerie, melodic cry. Eventually, the troublesome creature flew away.

Thirsty, Tom exited the cave. He found a clear pool of water nearby. He leaned over to dip his hands into what promised to be a cool and refreshing drink. Then Tom caught his reflection in the pond. It was that of the Grim Reaper. He screamed.

Trembling from the vision, he realised that he was standing in an empty classroom.

**********

In the wee hours of the morning, Tom dreamt of serpents; dark, slippery, sloped corridors; a toad perched on a hen's egg; and, oddly, Salazar Slytherin who was a thousand years before his time.

"A basilisk," he whispered as his eyelids flew open and the dream fell from him like a bed sheet. "Salazar's monster was a _basilisk_."

**********

The mysterious, magical room occupied Tom's thoughts for several weeks, but he did not return to it. He found the visions haunting and not exactly comforting. The phoenix and his reflection in the pond disturbed him the most.

**********

One night, in mid-December, he was unable to sleep so he sneaked from the castle into Hogsmeade. Tom went to the Three Broomsticks, silently entered the premises, and pilfered a bottle of butterbeer. Then he surreptitiously traversed the entirely magical village. He slipped in and out of gardens (yards) as the occupants of the homes slept. Occasionally, a kneazle hissed and spat at him or a crup ran up to greet him. Sipping his butterbeer, he noticed a warm, yellow light between the slender trees in a copse on the edge of town. Tom went toward it. As he approached, he saw a silhouette of a woman framed in a window.

Tom crept closer while trying to avoid stepping on the underbrush and dead leaves. The small house appeared secluded from the main road and from the rest of Hogsmeade. He could clearly see through the open window that did not contain curtains. It presented a view of a surprisingly spacious bathroom. A woman with honey blonde hair was in the room humming as she brushed her hair. Tom could hear water falling into what he imagined to be a tub. She rose from where she was sitting before a mirror to turn off the tap. Then she began to undress. Tom slowly sipped his butterbeer while he watched in the darkness. His breath caught in his throat when she stood before the window completely nude and gazed out into the night. Unaware of her audience, she stepped into the sunken tub. Tom remained to watch the woman bathe, dry herself off, and then put on a sheer gown. He left when she turned off the light and exited the bathroom.

He made frequent visits to the house under the cover of darkness to gaze at the woman in rapt attention while she unknowingly performed for him.

**********

Unlike the previous Christmas holidays, Tom was not the only Slytherin who stayed behind. His company was Edmund Dulovo whom Tom had developed an irrational resentment. He despised everything about the boy, his wealth and ancestry in particular. It enraged him to hear Edmund constantly boasting of his family's money and the purity of his bloodline. Tom's image of Edmund was that of an overly pampered, lap dog in desperate need of a brutal kick. He did not look forward to listening to the boy's mindless chatter during the holidays. Tom could not fathom why Edmund would prefer to spend Christmas at Hogwarts instead of at his grandparents who supposedly doted on him.

One night after supper, in the common room before the fire, Tom asked Edmund why he did not spend the holidays with his family.

"I _hate_ spending the holidays at my mother's parents. Grandmother always treats me like a baby. She makes me eat large bowls of porridge _every_ morning, forces me to rub her feet _every_ night, insists on checking me after I bathe to make sure I washed everything properly, and _every_ day asks if I had two bowel movements." He grimaced. "_Grandfather_ acts like I'm going to break _everything_ in the house. He constantly tells me, 'Careful, laddie.' He won't let me _play_. He prefers that I read and stay quiet. It's awfully _boring_ there. I like Father's parents immensely better. I have all _sorts_ of fun at Grandfather and Grandmother Dulovo's. They buy me anything I wish, and let me do whatever I want. They...."

"What's that you have there?" Tom interrupted.

He pointed to a silvery garment lying beside him. "This?"

"Yes."

"It's an Invisibility Cloak," he replied, smugly. "Father gave it to me for my Christmas present. Isn't it _splendid_? They're very rare and _very_ expensive, you know."

"May I see it?"

"Sure." Edmund held out the cloak to Tom.

Tom took it and put it on.

Edmund clapped his hands and laughed. "Blimey! All I can see is your head!"

Tom grinned and said, "Let me keep it for a while."

Edmund frowned. "No. I haven't had a chance to really _use_ it. I've only had it for _three_ days."

An ugly expression marred Tom's handsome features. In a low, ominous voice Tom said, "_Don't you ever tell me 'no,' you f---ing prick_."

Edmund stood up. "But it's _mine_! I want it back!"

Tom glowered at the boy.

Edmund reached out to snatch at the cloak. "Give it back to me!"

Tom struck him across the jaw with his fist. Edmund screamed and fell to the floor. A large lump was rapidly swelling on the right side of his face. Then Edmund foolishly leapt up, kicked Tom, and began pummelling him with his fists.

Enraged at Edmund's audacity, Tom summarily and methodically beat the boy. Once Edmund cowered on the floor and begged for him to stop, Tom forced him to remove his clothing. Then he grabbed the poker by the fireplace mantle and beat Edmund until he became unconscious.

Panting, he stood over the seemingly lifeless, naked boy on the floor. Edmund was a bloody, lumpy, bruised mess. After about fifteen minutes elapsed, Tom picked up Edmund's clothing and ripped them. Then he wiped blood on them before he put them on the unconscious boy. When Edmund was dressed, Tom pointed his wand at him, and uttered a spell he hoped would work. "_Obliviate_."

Tom made sure the Invisibility Cloak would cover him entirely and then removed it. He bent, lifted Edmund, and draped him across one of his shoulders. Then he put the cloak back on. Silently, he left the common room for the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

Once he made it to the forest, he removed the cloak and placed Edmund on the ground. He tore the Invisibility Cloak, smeared blood on it, and dragged it across the ground. Then Tom ripped his robe, rolled about on the ground, and then hit himself with a good-sized tree limb with as much strength as he could muster across the face and shoulders. He deliberately dragged his knuckles against the rough bark of a tree. After he was done, he lifted Edmund and ran awkwardly toward the castle.

"Help! Someone help me!" he cried as he re-entered the castle and ran in the direction of the hospital wing.

Professors Dippet, Dumbledore, and Allkimee, and a few students rushed into the corridor.

The professors swiftly went up to him with alarm etched on their faces.

"A troll, professor! A troll attacked us!" Tom said to Dippet.

Allkimee ran ahead to alert Madam Salve. A minute later, Tom and his entourage entered the hospital wing.

"Oh dear!" Madam Salve exclaimed when she caught a glimpse of Edmund. "Put him over here," she ordered Tom.

Tom complied and then collapsed on the bed beside the one Edmund was on. He carefully watched Madam Salve revive the boy.

"Mr. Riddle, please tell us what happened," Dumbledore said in a low voice as Edmund moaned.

"I was in the common room studying, sir, when I realised that I hadn't seen Edmund in a while."

"So you went to look for him?" said Allkimee in a soft, soothing voice.

"Yes, Professor. I remembered that he had an Invisibility Cloak and was thinking of sneaking out of the castle. I had warned him not to do so several times. First, I went to the first years' room and called out his name. He wasn't there. Then I left the common room to search for him."

"Why didn't you tell one of us?" said Dumbledore.

"I didn't think it was necessary at the time, sir."

"We understand, Mr. Riddle," said Dippet gently. "Please continue."

"I have to admit that I did step out of the castle, but just to see if I could spot him. Then I heard a scream. So I ran in the direction that it came from. That is when I saw the troll shaking Edmund like a doll."

Allkimee gasped.

Dumbledore stared at him in a probing-like fashion. "What did you do then?"

"I didn't think, sir. I just reacted. I ran toward the troll shouting. It saw me and dropped Edmund. Then it lunged toward me with its club raised. I stepped aside as it was brought down. It grazed my shoulder. Then I grabbed the hand holding the club to wrestle it from the troll. It hit me across the face."

"How did you escape, Mr. Riddle?" inquired Dumbledore. "What happened to the troll?"

"I don't really know, sir. I heard what sounded like an angry roar, and the troll simply stopped. Then it stumbled rapidly off into the forest. I picked up Edmund and ran to the castle."

"What a brave lad you are!" Dippet said with admiration.

Tom blushed and said, "Thank you, sir."

Then professor Dippet said, "We must get you cleaned up, too. Madam Salve, how is Mr. Dulovo?"

"He's fine, Professor. I gave him a potion so that he could sleep soundly. He doesn't seem to recall what happened."

"I can understand _that_," said Allkimee. "The lump on the poor boy's forehead was rather nasty appearing. He is lucky to be alive." Then she smiled warmly at Tom. "Thanks to you, Mr. Riddle."

Tom returned her smile. Then Madam Salve forced him to drink a bitter tasting medicine to heal his self-inflicted wounds.

Dumbledore watched Tom with a bemused expression on his face.

Tom turned to Madam Salve. "Madam, is it all right for me to return to my house?"

"Yes, you may go, dearie. This one however must remain overnight."

He stood to return to the common room.

**********

A few days later, Tom regretted that he had modified Edmund's memory. If he had not, Edmund would not have returned so quickly to his insufferable self. Tom was tired of the eleven-year-old flaunting his wealth and ancestry.

**********

Tom watched from the doorway of the first year Slytherin boys' room as Edmund polished his racing broom. Of course, Edmund had the best broom on the market, a Cleansweep Three. So engrossed in his broom ministrations, Edmund did not notice that he had company. Tom silently stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

Edmund glanced up when he heard the soft snap of the door being locked.

**~~~~~~**

::_shudders_:: _I can't believe I wrote any of this_.

_Oh, you can find a crup (page 8) and a kneazle (page 24) in Fantastic Beasts & Where To Find Them by J.K. Rowling as Newt Scamander (Scholastic Press, 2001)._


	6. Draco Evigilo

**_A/N_**_: I apologise for taking so long to post this chapter. This one took forever because (1) I was struck by the dreadful disease, Writer's Block and (2) Fanfiction.Net has been a bit unrealiable lately. _

_**Incitata and Rage Point:**: Many thanks (and hugs and kisses) for your plugs of this fic in the HP-Forum-That-No-Longer-Exists._

_**Nemesis: **Hmm, we've spoken already, haven't we? But you haven't responded to my last email! ^_~_

_**Aurora Lynn Rose:** I'm not comfortable using profanity, so writing profanity (and all the other horrors) in this story makes me blush. You have noticed that I still haven't gotten around to actually spelling out the F word. Yep, Tommy is a bit sick, isn't he? More displays of sickness ahead, I'm afraid._

_**Iphigenia:** No, I don't believe Riddle was born evil. I think the circumstances or environment (neglect and abuse) in which he grew up in made him into the evil thing that he is. You will learn more about his earlier years in later chapters. So, to answer your question, I believe nurture was responsible for Riddle's character._

_**PotionsMaster:** Uh oh. I changed his birth date to the 24th. After I thought about it for awhile (I have a tendency to do that), I concluded that he was most likely physically born on the date of his rebirth (Book 4). It seems to make sense. Of course, JKR may later tell us he was born on Halloween or on the 13th of June. *sigh* _

_**All: **Thanks for being so patient, and many hugs and kisses for staying with this disturbingly dark fic. A dozen roses, of course, to those who submit a review._

**_Warning_**_: Violence (of course), remarks of a racial nature, and implied nastiness._

_**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter ideas, characters, and places do not belong to me. They belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Brothers._

**~~~~~~**

_**Immortalis Dominus Dominatus**_

**Part I: _Alpha_**

**by Auror5**

**~~~~~~**

**Chapter V: Draco Evigilo**

"Where is Edmund?" he spat.

This was the third consecutive meeting Edmund Dulovo had missed since the Christmas holidays ended.

"He's in the infirmary," answered Garret Oblong.

"Again? How many f---ing times does he plan to go there?" Tom responded.

Normally silent Brett Mitchell surprised everyone by speaking. "He's gone mental," said the chubby, bespectacled boy in a soft voice. "He always shakes and chucks before the meetings."

"Aye, he does," said Garret. "He wakes us nearly every night thrashing and screaming. He doesn't even talk to us anymore. Spends his time crying in the Owlery, he does."

Isaac sniggered. "For his mummy?"

"Boo hoo hoo. Mummy, I want more money and things," added Timothy. "Please, Mummy. Boo hoo hoo. Boo HOO HOO. Ahhhhhh, boo HOO HOO. BOO HOO hoo."

A number of the boys laughed while Timothy continued to "cry" in an outrageous manner.

"Shut up!" Tom snapped.

The boys immediately complied.

Tom turned to Brett. "Tell the little prick that he better bring four Galleons with him to the next meeting."

Then he turned to the rest of the "soldiers" in the chamber. "Now I have an assignment for all of you. Find out who all the Mudbloods are in this bloody school. I want a list of their names, understand?"

"Yes, Master," they replied.

******

He saw her racing through the corridor just before he entered the library. Herbology had been cancelled on account of the blizzard raging outside the castle walls. The storm sent icy drafts to pool in unsuspecting corridors and high-pitched wails through the loose windowpanes. Her long, dark curls streamed out behind her as she ran.

"Melia!"

Gasping for breath, she halted.

He caught up with her.

"Please," Melia stammered, "I'm late for Potions."

"You know you aren't supposed to run in the corridors."

"I know," she whined with a flushed face, "but I'm awfully late. Professor Kemmis removes ten points for every five minutes we're late, and I'm," she glanced at her watch, "already _seven_ minutes late. I must go."

Melia began to walk away from him at a rapid pace.

Tom slightly quickened his step to match her stride.

"You _do_ know, Melia, that running in the corridors means fifteen points from Slytherin?"

Breathless, she retorted in a slightly exasperated tone, "You're a prefect. You wouldn't remove points from your own house. Just pretend you didn't see me."

Gazing down at her askance, he smirked at her flippancy.

"Oh I can't pretend to not see _you_, Melia," he said, softly. "But you're right. I do want Slytherin to win the House Cup."

She briefly gazed up at him, and then reached out to grasp the doorknob to her right.

Tom followed her as she stepped into the classroom. The second year Slytherins and Gryffindors looked up from their work as they entered.

"Mr. Riddle," Professor Kemmis exclaimed in surprise, "what brings you here?"

"I'm sorry for interrupting your lesson, sir. I was just escorting Miss Conrad to her class. I ran into her as she was leaving a girls' bathroom. She told me that she had taken ill in a toilet."

At her desk, Melia paused while removing articles from her bag and glanced up.

"Miss Conrad, are you feeling better now?" said Kemmis. "Do you wish to see Madam Salve?"

"Erm, no, sir," Melia demurely replied with a neutral expression on her face. "I'm feeling better now."

"All right. Since you were ill, I will not remove any points from Slytherin." He turned to Tom. "Thank you, Mr. Riddle, for seeing that Miss Conrad arrived to her lesson."

He nodded and left the classroom.

After supper that day, Tom sat in a dark corner of the common room speaking with Alvar, Miles, Uthman, and Max about Hogwarts' Muggle-born students.

"If I were on the Hogwarts Board of Governors," stated Uthman imperiously, "I would see to it that the rules were changed to state that Mudbloods aren't allowed here."

"I think," Tom said with circumspect, "that perhaps the environment should be made less _welcome_ for them."

Max ginned. "Aye. Perhaps we should make it more difficult for them. They wouldn't like it so much if they were to become, er, _accident_ prone."

"Or if they were always ending up on the wrong end of a curse," chimed in Miles.

"Or," said Alvar, "if they were constantly spending time in the infirmary with broken limbs."

"Or," said Tom with an odd gleam in his eyes, "getting killed."

"Erm, excuse me."

The teens glanced up from their circle and beheld Melia standing nearby with her friend, Rivers.

Shyly, Melia briefly glanced at the boys and then directed her attention to Tom.

"Erm, I just wanted to thank you for helping me earlier."

Tom gazed up at her and smiled. "You're very much welcome."

"All right. 'Bye." She raised her hand in a half-wave, and then she and Rivers moved off to another corner of the room.

He watched her go with a knowing smirk on his face.

"Who was the bird?" Uthman said, quietly. "And what did you do for her, Lord Voldemort?"

Still smirking, Tom turned toward Uthman and said, "Coaxed her to step on the path to her destiny."

******

"She's an Animagus, I've heard," commented Omin Strick as Tom and his friends sat at a table in the Three Broomsticks.

Sipping butterbeer, Tom closely watched Sheena Reese make her way over to a table occupied by her fellow Ravenclaws. She was an exotic appearing, lithe black girl with amber eyes and a complexion of that of dark chocolate. He was wondering what it would feel like to caress her bare skin when he noticed Colby Pinstripe sit beside her. Tom's features hardened with hatred.

"What form does she take?" inquired Max LaSalle with his mouth full of fudge cake.

"A panther," replied Daemon Strick.

"I'm surprised her kind have any magic at all," stated Miles.

"What do you mean by that?" said Alvar.

"Her kind were once slaves, you know. They're barbaric, inferior." Then he added, "I'm amazed that some of them were intelligent enough to have magic, and she's a _prefect_." Miles shook his head.

"Too bad the wizards and witches of her kind weren't made into slaves for us," said Uthman while gazing at Sheena over the rim of his goblet. "I'm sure they would be better servants than the damn house-elves we have."

"Excuse us. May we sit here?"

Completely engrossed in their conversation, the boys failed to see Skye Amberidge and Cynthia Darkling enter their space.

Skye tossed her long, straw-coloured hair and said, "May we? These are the only two empty chairs left in the whole place."

The boys shrugged. Skye quickly took the empty chair next to Tom.

"Hi, Tom," Skye said brightly while batting her thick eyelashes. "You were _splendid_ in the Duelling Tournament. I _knew_ you were going to win for our house. You're the best." Then she gave him her most winning smile.

"Thanks," Tom replied, half-looking at her.

"Did you finish your transfiguration assignment?"

"Yes."

"Indeed? Could you help me? _Please_, Tom? I am so _lost_ in that lesson! Dumbledore makes it _so_ difficult. Could you help me? _Please_ say yes, Tom. I'll do _anything_ for you, if you'd help me get high marks for this assignment."

He turned his full attention onto Skye.

Blushing slightly, her heart quickened its pace as the handsomest boy in the fifth year gazed into her pale blue eyes. After several more seconds elapsed, Skye began to feel slightly uncomfortable under his probing stare.

"_Please_, Tom?" Then she pouted in an attempt to make herself appear more alluring.

"All right."

"Oh thank you!" she gushed. "When can we start? How about the library, tonight? It will be mostly empty, so we won't have to worry about any distractions."

"No, not there. The common room after supper will be fine."

"But, _Tom_, it's always so _noisy_ and _crowded_ in there after supper. It would be better if we were in a quieter place."

With a trace of irritation, he responded, "I _said_ the common room, Skye. If you want my help, you will meet me _there_ after supper."

Crestfallen, she replied in a slightly injured tone, "All right."

Tom then dismissed her from his thoughts and consideration.

******

The soft hooting of the owls in the circular room atop a tower soothed his psyche. He stroked the snowy owl on his knee unmindful of the chill and odour of bird dung. Hundreds of miles away his mind drifted. On the back of his winged horse, Lancelot, he soared above an imagined landscape experiencing joy underlaid with a drowning depression.

In this tower, his mind's eye absorbing the beauty of a fantasy, he could escape the shame and fear by burying them in flight. He was unable to accomplish this feat in the castle proper, although he desperately tried. He wanted to seek solace from the unspeakable images and the overwhelming emotions they always brought. These torments crowded and battered his soul during the day and blackened his dreams at night.

Since the ruination, he kept his gaze lowered in the company of others. He did not want them to discover in his eyes what he had been attempting to submerge in the wake left by the part of him that simply died.

He fell to Earth when the door to the Owlery swung open.

It was _he_.

Forgetting the owl perched on his knee, the boy leapt up in fright and stumbled backward.

Musala, his snowy owl, loudly squawked once with indignation while swooping up towards a vacated ledge. One white feather slowly spiralled down to the floor.

The tall, fifth year with features distorted in anger grabbed him by the neck and roughly shoved him onto the straw and bone-littered floor. Then he straddled the boy.

Tears sprang from his eyes like the sudden fall of water from atop a cliff. The boy whimpered in pain as the scourge gripped his upper arms.

"_Please_. Don't," he stammered between sobs.

"Shut up, you f---ing bender," he snapped. "Why haven't you been attending the meetings?"

The boy continued to cry.

Tom grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked. He screamed as several strands tore free of his scalp.

"_Answer me_, Edmund!"

"I, I don't know," he sobbed.

"Liar!" exclaimed Tom, and then he slapped the first year.

Tom bent his face toward Edmund and whispered conspiratorially in his ear, "D'you want more punishment? You _liked_ it, didn't you? You wished the holidays would never end, didn't you?"

Edmund squeezed his eyes shut as waves of shame engulfed him.

Tom stood and towered over him. "You _will_ be at the meeting this Saturday, Edmund. And you _will_ bring _seven_ Galleons with you."

Trembling uncontrollably while sitting up, Edmund watched Tom leave the room as tears trickled down his face and robe.

The following day, Edmund discovered his beloved Musala's broken and lifeless body on the floor of the Owlery. Distraught with grief, he shrieked until the Head Girl, Minerva McGonagall, happened to enter the room. Then he fainted.

******

Roaming the seventh floor late one night in search of Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets, Tom spotted movement at the end of the corridor as he stepped out of a girls' bathroom. Stealthily, he went toward the direction in which he could barely hear footfalls. Once he reached the corner, he halted and then peeked around the wall. It was the second year Gryffindor some referred to as "Mountain Boy," "Giant," and "Troll." Tom quietly and rapidly approached the over seven foot tall thirteen-year-old.

"Hagrid."

Rubeus Hagrid quickly turned around to face the voice that called his name.

Tom observed that Hagrid wore a guilty expression and carried a small, blanket-wrapped bundle. Hagrid had nearly dropped this parcel when Tom startled him.

"What are you holding, Hagrid?"

"Nothin.' Jus' some food from the kitchens."

"Indeed? And what are doing up here so late at night? Isn't the Gryffindor common room on the opposite side?"

Hagrid frowned down at him. "What're _you_ doin' here?"

"I asked _you_ a question, you simpleminded fool!" he hissed. "You aren't allowed in this corridor, on this floor, at this hour! Do you understand, idiot?"

Hagrid simply glared down at Tom.

"_Answer me_, you bloody, thick-headed _oaf_," he snarled.

"I wasn' doin' anythin' wrong!"

"Fifty points from Gryffindor for roaming the castle after hours," snapped Tom. "If you don't remove your stupid, sheep face from my sight now, I will remove _another_ fifty points."

With a combined angry, hurt glance at Tom, Hagrid swiftly left the vicinity.

******

"Where's Abby?"

The boys glanced at each other and shrugged.

"Clem, was she in lessons today?"

"Yes, Master."

"Then why isn't she here?"

"I don't know."

Annoyed, Tom looked around at the boys encircling him. "Did anyone see her after supper?"

"I did," responded Friedrich.

"Where was she?"

"In the common room with her friend, Greta."

Tom muttered, "Miss Orlen has some explaining to do." Then he waved his hand dismissively. "Did you all remember your assignment? It's due. Now."

One by one they gave him a piece of parchment with names writ upon it.

Late that night, on his way to Hogsmeade to observe a certain dame while she bathed, Tom spotted Abigail in a corner of the dark common room with textbooks opened before her. The glow from the single hovering candle painted her face warm gold.

Before she could glance up, Tom rushed over and brutally seized her upper arm. The flame from the candle almost winked out from the disturbed gust of air.

"_Where were you_?"

"Gerroff me!" Abby struggled to free herself from his painful grasp.

Tom shoved her to the floor.

"_Where were you, bitch_?"

"I don't want to be a part of your army anymore!"

"You _swore_, Abby! You swore eternal loyalty to _me_."

"And I _said_ I don't want to be your soldier anymore."

Tom hit her across the face with his fist. Bright blood sprang from her nose.

Abigail briefly whimpered and then spat in Tom's face.

He grabbed Abigail by her flame-coloured hair and dragged her to her feet.

"Lemme _go_," she pleaded as Tom pulled her by the hair towards the stairs leading down to the dormitories.

Downstairs, he escorted her into a girls' bathroom. Once inside, he locked the door and removed his grip from Abigail's hair.

She attempted to escape, but he caught her before she reached the door. Tom then carried her into a spacious stall housing a toilet.

Flipping her over so that she hung head down over the toilet, he quietly said, "I ought to drown you, Abby."

"Go ahead. Then I would be free." Then she added, "Free from _you_."

He lowered her toward the toilet. For a moment, Abigail thought he would carry out his threat. Then he righted her and placed her upon her feet.

"You're not leaving me, Abby."

"_I no longer want to be a member of your army, Riddle_."

Tom shook his head. "You _swore_, Abby! You can't leave me. You promised me loyalty and faithfulness."

"I _renege_! You're _evil_, and I _HATE_ you!"

He recoiled as though he had been slapped. Swiftly recovering, he grabbed her by the neck with both hands and began to squeeze.

Throttling Abigail, Tom shouted, "You can't leave me. I won't allow it. You _swore_."

Abigail struggled ineffectually to free her neck from Tom's grip. As her face and lips took on a bluish caste, her efforts ceased.

Distantly, as she succumbed to the enveloping darkness, Abigail heard Tom say, "Don't leave me. You're my true family."

******

_A hundred footfalls above the Hall of Receeveth. Followeth the layn where it ends near the open vue of the land. In the chaymber wherith wytches groometh lys a spout wherith clensing water floweth. Look closelee, me frynd, for thyr ye will findeth a serpent. Speek to it and it will showeth ye the way._

Tom glanced up from the thick volume he had been reading and focused on the whispering coming from a nearby bookshelf. He thought he heard his name mentioned. Silently, Tom gathered his belongings and placed them in his worn book bag. Then he rose and cautiously walked in the direction in which he heard the voices.

"I just don't believe he's that way."

"Listen to me, Sheena. There is something _wrong_ with Riddle. Don't let his charming smile fool you. Have you ever looked into his _eyes_?"

"No."

"I have. _There's nothing there_. They're empty, dead, _dark_. It is as though he doesn't have a soul."

"I think you're being too harsh, Colby!"

"_Shhh_! Madam Pince will be sure to throw us out if you don't keep your voice down."

"I still think you're being too unfair to him. We all know how much you hate him. Are you still angry about that duelling lesson of over a year ago?"

"This has nothing to do with bloody duelling!"

"Shhh!"

"He has pulled the blinders over your eyes, Sheena. Open your _eyes_ and see what he really is behind his smiles."

"He's nice. That's what I see, Colby. He doesn't look at me with contempt like many around here do because of my dark colour."

"So, you would sell your soul to the devil because he has no problem with your race?"

"That's a horrible thing to say! I think you're prejudiced against him. You're jealous, that's what. Why don't you say so and stop pretending?!"

"_Shhh_! I'm not jealous of that bloody bastard. Why would I want to be like him, soulless and dark?"

"Stop saying that! He isn't that way at all. He's brilliant and always friendly to everyone. _I see it_. Even to the first years, he's cordial. The professors seem to love and admire him. He's so brilliant, always the top of the class. He always comes up with the best ideas in our prefect meetings. In our lessons, when we need partners, he always volunteers to be mine when you can't. Most don't want to be near me. I like him for that."

"Yes, of course. The professors all love him. He has his Slytherin admirers following him about Hogsmeade. Girls fawning all over him. It's _disgusting_. Yes, he treats you fine and dandy, Sheena, but what about his close friends, eh?"

"What about them?"

"Oh, so you don't know about his friends, eh? _All of them are from families who are known supporters of Lord Grindelwald_. Malfoy, LaSalle, Dougal, McKinley, all of them."

"It isn't Riddle's fault what his friends are."

"_They are all from a long line of dark wizards_. Why would he want to associate with people like that? Riddle's no better than they. _He's worse_, I tell you!"

"Shhh! He's a _Slytherin_. Who else would his friends be? If you are so concerned, why haven't you tried to become his friend?"

"Why should I? Why would I want to friend someone who is evil?"

"He's not evil!"

"_Shhh_! Believe what you want, Sheena, but if I were you I would not let his charms trick me. He's like Satan, he is...fooling everyone. Did you know that he is an orphan? I found out. He lives in a _Muggle_ orphanage. He has no proper wizarding background. He has no _family_. He lives off the charity of others."

"Then we ought to pity him. It must be difficult for him to live like that, with no family to visit during the holidays. I feel sorry for him."

"_Don't_, Sheena. He's _dark_. _Please_, just look in his eyes, will you? Do it for me, Sheena."

"I think you aren't being fair to him, Colby. You just told me he grew up in an orphanage. It must have been horrible for him. I heard about those Muggle orphanages. Don't condemn him. He's not evil, perhaps lonely and sad. Mayhap you see _sadness_ in his eyes, not darkness!"

"_Shhh_! I will tell you one thing: Not all of the professors are taken by Riddle's false charms. There is one who sees right through him like I do."

"And who may that be?"

"Professor Dumbledore."

"Oh come...."

At that moment, Tom stepped into view. He observed the abashed expression on Reese's face and the fleeting frightened one on Pinstripe's. 

"Hullo, Sheena. Erm, I was wondering if you were on your way to the prefect meeting."

"Erm, yes."

"Then we can go together. I was on my way up."

"All right."

Halfway to the library exit, Tom glanced back and smirked at Pinstripe who was glaring malevolently at him.

******

"Where's Abigail?" he snapped.

The boys encircling him imperceptibly stepped back. They had spotted the fury in his eyes. Edmund cowered when Tom's gaze briefly settled upon him.

"_Does anyone know where the f---ing bitch is? _Tell me!"

"We don't know, Master," answered Jason quietly. "She was in all of our lessons today, and I saw her at supper."

"Did anyone see her _after_ supper?"

The boys shook their heads.

"All right then. Miss Orlen will be severely disciplined for disobeying me. Until she returns, treat her as the bloody traitor she is, understand?"

The soldiers nodded.

"Make life miserable for her. I will not tolerate any deserters!" Then he shrieked, "_You have all sworn complete loyalty to ME_."

Uneasily, they stepped back.

Clenching and unclenching his fists, he glared at each boy in turn. "Each of you have sworn eternal loyalty to me. You can never leave me. _Never_. Didn't my mark seal your loyalty, faithfulness, and obedience to me?"

Mutely, they stared at him.

"_Answer me_!"

"Yes, Lord," they replied in unison.

"You can never, _ever_ leave me. You're bound to me by the scar on your arm.

"Now then. Daemon and Omin did you photograph all of the Mudbloods in this school as you were told?"

"Yes, Master," the teens chorused.

"Good. Give them to me."

The Strick twins each handed him an envelope.

Tom seized the sealed packages and briefly glanced inside each. "Good. Very well done. Both of you shall be rewarded."

"Thanks, Master."

"All of you are dismissed, except Isaac. Leave your Sickles with Alvar." Tom turned to Alvar. "Flog anyone who did not bring one Sickle. You have the whip, eh?"

"Yes, Lord."

"Good."

Isaac fearfully watched everyone slowly filter from the chamber.

Once the room had emptied, Tom closed the door and turned to Isaac who was visibly shaking.

"Please, Master, what have I done?"

"Nothing. I have a special assignment for you."

"Oh," Isaac exhaled with relief. "What do you want me to do?"

"First, I want you to photograph Colby Pinstripe. D'you know who he is?"

Isaac frowned. "I don't think so. What does he look like?"

"He's about my height. Has brown hair, blue eyes, and a broom-shaped birthmark on the side of his neck. He's a Ravenclaw fifth year. I will point him out for you tomorrow, all right?"

The boy nodded.

"Your second assignment will be given to you by the end of the week. I will give you an owl treat, understand?"

"Yes, Master."

"You will go to the Owlery and feed it to Abigail's owl. Do you know which one belongs to her?"

"Aye, a Great Grey, Thebes."

"Yes, that's the one. You will feed the owl treat to Thebes. _Make sure no one sees you enter the Owlery or spots you inside_, understand?"

"Yes, Master."

"Good. You may leave."

******

Abigail missed the next meeting. Seething, Tom thought the death of her owl would convince her to return to him.

Glaring at Abigail from across the common room, he lowered his voice. "Uthman, Max, I have a task for you both."

"What is it?" said Max.

"That little redheaded witch over there is truly beginning to annoy me with her impudence."

"You wish for us to teach her a lesson?" Uthman replied with a grin that did not reach his eyes.

"Yes, indeed. Tomorrow, after lessons have ended for the day, follow her. Sit near her during supper. After supper, tell her that you want to speak with her. Then take her to our meeting chamber and beat her. Both of you. Don't leave any marks on her face, understand?"

"Aye, we do," Max responded. "She will be one hurting witch when we're done with her. Eh, Uthman?"

"Yes, indeed." He smiled widely.

"Remember, leave no marks on her face."

"Mahnnie, have you seen Rhiannon? I've been looking all over for her."

Startled, the teens glanced up at the girl who had spoken.

"What do you think I am?" Uthman snarled. "Rhiannon's keeper?"

Chloe glared at him. "You don't have to be so _nasty_, Uthman. I just asked!"

"Well, I don't know, and I don't care!" he snapped. "And next time, Chloe, don't interrupt our conversation. I'm sure Mother and Father taught their little princess better manners."

Chloe gave her brother a brief look of intense contempt and left.

Uthman watched her go. "Yes, it will be easy for me to teach Abigail a lesson. All I have to do is pretend that she is my f---ing little sister."

******

Tom wanted to kill her for defying him. _I should have strangled the life from her when I had the chance_, he said to himself.

He thought the severe beating Uthman and Max administered to Abigail would frighten her into returning to him. However he had not counted on her strong will. Tom vowed he would break it, even if he had to murder her.

While nearly the entire Slytherin house was in the Great Hall partaking of supper, Tom was standing in the second year girls' room. He went over to where he believed Abigail slept.

_Yes, this is it_, he thought after spotting the diary she usually carried around with her on the bed.

Tom took the diary and left.

In the fifth year Slytherin boys' dormitory, he opened Abigail's diary and flipped through the pages. _Boring, little girl's stuff_, he thought.

Tom turned to a blank page in the book and then removed the wand from his robe. He then picked up the quill on his night table. Pointing the wand at the hand holding the quill, he said,

"_Ementior_."

Then he began to write.

Late that night, while everyone slept, he silently entered the second year girls' room. He removed Abigail's diary from the pocket of his robe, bent, and carefully placed it under Greta's bed. Before exiting, he went over to where Melia slept and pulled back the curtains. Tom stared at her sleeping form for several minutes and then reached down to lightly stroke her cheek.

Melia frowned in her sleep while turning away from his caress.

******

"I still don't understand how it works, Tom," said Skye silkily.

Tom was explaining the intricacies of the Crippling Curse to Skye and Cynthia. He was becoming impatient with their feigned ignorance.

"Yes, you do. Don't play games with me, Skye."

"But...."

"You horrid witch! _How could you_?" screamed Greta.

Silence descended on the common room as everyone turned to see what the commotion was about.

Abigail leapt from her chair. "What are you talking about?" she yelled.

"_This_!" Greta waved Abigail's diary in front of her face.

Abigail reached out to grab the book but Greta prevented her from grasping it.

"It's _mine_! Where did you get it? I've been looking all over for it."

"Indeed you were, you horrid thing. Didn't want anyone to see what you wrote in it, did you?"

"What are you _talking_ about? And I'm not horrid!"

"Aye, you are! You're a liar and no friend of mine. I thought you were my _friend_, Abby!"

"I am!"

"You're a LIAR," Greta shrieked. Then she turned to the audience. "She says I'm her friend, eh? Well, just listen to what she writes about her _friends_!"

Greta opened the diary and began to read.

_Greta, she's my best friend and I like her very much. But she smells bad, sort of like a wet, dirty crup.(1) I can't stand her stink sometimes. Once I thought I saw lice in her hair. Her nose is far too long and pointy; else, she would be pretty, I think. Bathing regularly would be good for her, too._

"I stink, do I? Don't bathe? Have LICE in my hair?" Then her mouth trembled. "And so what about my nose! What about your million freckles and short, ugly, _red_ hair?"

"I didn't write that, Greta! _Honest_! I didn't do it!"

"LIAR! It's in your diary and in _your_ writing." Greta turned to look at one of the girls nearby. "Let's see what she says about _you_, Rose."

_How could her parents name her Rose? She's anything but! Rose looks a lot like the hags found in our history book. She's horribly ugly and big for a girl. She even snores loudly in her sleep like a warlock. I do think she may have troll blood in her. Her parents should have named her Grunt._

The second year girl named Rose choked back a sob and lumbered as fast as possible from the common room.

Greta continued to read.

_Ophelia looks like a scrawny, starving rat dragged from a pond._

Jason and Clem sniggered. Then Clem whispered, a bit too loudly, to Jason, "She does, doesn't she?"

Ophelia burst into tears and ran from the room.

_I don't know what Melia sees in Rivers. Everyone can see that Rivers wishes she were Melia. She even tried to put curls in her hair once but the charm failed miserably. She ended up with immense folds and wrinkles on her face._

Several guffawed at this.

Standing beside Melia, Rivers blushed.

_Rivers is pretty though, but she will never be as pretty and interesting as Melia. And she knows that. She will always be in Melia's shadow. She's also quite stupid. A flobberworm looks brilliant in comparison._

_I found out that Jason and Clem are fairies._

"_WHAT_? That's a _lie_!" said Jason. "You _LIAR_! We aren't that way."

Greta resumed.

_They are fairies. They spend all their time together, if you notice. You would think Jason would get tired of looking at Clem's beaver teeth after a while. I would. He looks like a ghoul, and he's the biggest coward I've ever known._

"Oh, I am, am I?" Clem glared at Abigail. "And you're a rotten, little, little..._BITCH_!"

"_I DIDN'T WRITE ANY OF THAT_! Please believe me. _Please_. I didn't write it!"

"Oh shut yer gob, Orlen. You've been caught," said a fourth year girl. "Carry on, Greta. This is very entertaining, almost as good as Quidditch, don't you think?"

A number of the students in the room expressed their agreement.

"Go on then," several older boys shouted.

"All right," said Greta.

_Melia is a whore._

Melia blanched upon hearing this.

_Aye, she is. Once, I saw her standing naked before the mirror and running her hands over her body. She told me that she wished one of the older boys would do that to her._

"That isn't true! I did no such thing. I don't want that!" Then she rounded on Abigail. "How could you make up those lies? You _know_ they aren't true! _How could you_?"

"There's more," said Greta.

_Melia wishes she had a lover. That's what she told me. She said that she could have any boy she wants because she's the prettiest girl in the school, and all the boys fancy her. But she only wants the older ones. She told me that sometimes she wishes she could sneak into one of the older boys' rooms and climb into one of their beds naked._

Many of the boys in the common room hooted and cheered.

"Oi, you are welcome to _my_ bed _any _time," said Cole Rudyard, Tom's fellow fifth year.

Tears flowing down her cheeks, Melia shrieked, "I _HATE_ you, you lying, _filthy_ witch." Then she ran from the room with Rivers following close on her heels.

Tears standing in her eyes, Abigail shook her head. "I didn't write any of that. Honest. I'm telling the truth."

"YOU _DID_." Then Greta threw the book at Abigail. It hit her on the forehead and left a small bruise there.

Abigail whipped out her wand and pointed it at Greta.

"Now, now," said a seventh year prefect moving over to stand between Greta and Abigail. "There's no need for that, eh? The show is over my friends, Romans, countrymen, wizards, witches, and all that.2 Abigail, please leave. You've caused enough damage, wouldn't you say?"

With a brief despairing glance at those surrounding her, Abigail ran stumbling from the room.

A huge grin on his face, Tom watched her leave.

******

Despite all that happened, Abigail failed to appear at the next meeting.

Enraged, Tom furtively followed her after supper to the library, which had become her sanctuary.

Shortly after 10 P.M., Abigail rose to leave the library. Tom silently pursued her into the corridor. Before she reached the tapestry leading to the dungeons, Tom reached out and grasped her by the arm.

"Oh no. You're coming with me, witch," he said, softly.

Face pale with misery, Abigail glanced up at him. "I can scream, you know."

"But you won't." In a blink of an eye, he removed the wand from his pocket, pointed it at her, and said, "_Mutus_."

Silently, he marched her up many flights of stairs until they reached the top of the Astronomy Tower. They stepped out onto the roof and into the cold wind. Tom still gripped Abigail's arm.

He shoved her to the edge of the roof. Abigail stumbled and nearly fell.

"You've greatly disappointed me, Abby. I don't like to be disappointed. What do you have to say for yourself?"

Abigail opened her mouth to speak but only a small moan issued forth.

"Oh yes. I had forgotten." He raised his wand and uttered a spell.

"Now then. I will repeat my question: what do you have to say for yourself, Miss Orlen?"

"I still don't want to be a part of your army. Nothing you can do, Riddle, will make me change my mind."

"You _swore_, Abby. Do you really enjoy being without friends? I think not. But you _will_ return to me."

"I won't."

Tom glanced up at the night sky. "There are many stars up there, eh? Make a wish, Abby. Wish upon a star!"

She stared at him as though he were mad.

"Should I gather that you've made your wish then? All right."

Tom rushed toward Abigail and roughly shoved her off the roof of the Astronomy Tower, the highest point of the castle.

Abigail screamed as she tumbled into space. The strong wind carried her cry away. She managed to halt her plunge by reaching out and grabbing onto a small, rusty pipe jutting out from the wall.

Standing at the edge of the roof, Tom stared down at the white face below him.

"Please. Please help me." The wind seemed to tear the words from her mouth.

Tom smiled when he heard the pipe she was barely clinging to begin to give way.

**~~~~~~**

_(1)J.K. Rowling as Newt Scamander, Fantastic Beasts & Where To Find Them, (Scholastic Press, 2001), p8._

**A/N:** _*shivers* I am beginning to scare myself silly._

_(2)It looks like the seventh year Slytherin prefect has read Shakespeare (Julius Caesar)._

_Regarding the racial remarks by the rotten Slytherins: I apologise if I have offended anyone. My intent was not to hurt anyone but to show what sort of friends Riddle had chosen. Please accept my apologies._

_In case Fanfiction.Net is down, you can always visit my web site, www.tgqa.net (Apparation Point), to get the latest installment of this story. There is a catch: Due to the high rating, the story is password protected. If you are seventeen or older, you can sign up on the web site to get the password. If you visit my web site and have a lot to say about Riddle/Voldemort, please read and comment on my essay about Lord Voldemort. Thanks!_


	7. Slytherin

**_A/N_**_: This is a short one. But, no worries, I promise the next one will be quite long...and juicy. ^_~_

_**seeyasucker**: Thanks! What an honor! Expect an email from me._

_**Incitata: **Oh boy, what a compliment! Thanks! *has a large, goofy grin on her face*_

_**All: **Many hugs and kisses for staying with this disturbingly dark fic. A dozen roses, of course, to those who submit a review. _

_**Note:** If you don't have Support Services and would like to be notified of any updates to this story, just let me know in your review. I will need your email address, of course._

**_Warning_**_: Violence and darkness ahead (of course)._

_**Disclaimer:** The Harry Potter universe belongs to J.K. Rowling and Warner Brothers, not me._

**~~~~~~**

_**Immortalis Dominus Dominatus**_

**Part I: _Alpha_**

**by Auror5**

**~~~~~~**

"_A heartless creature is a loveless creature, and a loveless creature is a beast._" 

~Stephen King (The Dark Tower II: The Drawing of The Three)

~~~~~~ 

**Chapter VI: Slytherin **

With a high-pitched squeal, the rusty pipe Abigail clung to bent sharply downward. No longer able to hold on, Abigail plunged swiftly to the ground. 

Standing atop the roof of the Astronomy Tower, Tom watched Abigail's rapid descent. Before her inevitable collision with the surface, Tom removed the wand from his robe, pointed it at the tiny form far below, and said, "_Ascendo_," while raising his wand arm slowly upward. 

At the moment her life would have shattered against the grassy ground, Abigail suddenly found herself soaring up into the air in a grand arc. 

Grinning broadly, Tom drew an imaginary circle with his wand while aiming it at Abigail. Abigail, like a marionette, helplessly somersaulted in the chilly, windy air. 

Tom laughed. 

Now hovering almost above him, Abigail cart-wheeled three times in rapid succession. 

Nearly choking with mirth, Tom called up to her. "Are you having fun, Abby? D'you want to come down now?" 

There was no response from the twelve-year-old girl who hung suspended, upside down, in the air. 

"Come, talk to me, witch." 

After a brief moment, Tom sighed. 

"All right then. _Converto_." 

Still dangling head down, Abigail spun like a gyroscope. 

Nearly doubled-up with glee, Tom stuttered, "What do you say, Abby? D'you still wish to leave me? 

"_Strigo_." 

Abigail ceased rotating and was flipped over to an upright position. Immediately, she vomited. Tom had stepped back just in time. 

"That's revolting, Abby. Now tell me, d'you wish to leave? Answer, "no," and you will live. Answer, "yes," and you will die. Which will it be?" 

In a tiny, strangled voice, she replied, "No." 

"Very good, Miss Orlen. You shall witness another day. 

"_Descendo_." 

Abigail landed on the roof, and crumpled up on its surface in a heap as her violently trembling legs gave out from beneath her. 

Tom walked over to where she lay curled up in a foetal position. 

"Get up, Abby." 

Faintly, he could hear her gasping for breath. Tom then knelt down beside her at the same instant a strong gust of wind blew toward his face. An expression of distaste flitted across his features. 

Softly, he said, "My, my, what are we going to do with you, witch? You _stink_. Chucked on your robes, eh? _And_ soiled your knickers, I see." 

Then he stood. 

"Get up, Abby. I'm not going to ask you again." 

Jerkily, she unravelled herself. On tremulous legs, she managed to gain her feet. Silently, she wept. Her face was pale with shock. 

"Now, now, we don't need that, do we? You made the correct decision, Abby. It's wrong to break an oath, you see. Reneging on promises made to me has, er, _unpleasant_ consequences as you have learned. 

"Come, let's go inside. It's chilly, and you're...damp. I want you to be in good health at our next meeting. I already have a special assignment for you." 

Then he laughed. 

Abigail shivered. 

"Two rolls of parchment. I want you to write two rolls of parchment on what happens to those who desert your master. Make sure you don't omit any details. I'm sure your fellow soldiers would love to hear of your adventure." 

He briefly laughed in his peculiar high, cold fashion. 

"And, Abby, bring one _Galleon_ with you to the meeting. One Sickle will not do, not in your case." 

Tom then turned on his heels and swiftly went toward the door with his robe billowing out in the wind behind him. 

Teeth chattering, Abigail watched him go as tears rolled down her freckled, ghostly-white cheeks. 

**********

He approached the group of girls clustered around a table playing _Stakes and Brimstone_. Melia glanced up from the game as Tom went to stand close beside her. The other girls paused in the midst of the play and gazed up at him questioningly. Tom then retrieved a half dozen sugar quills from his pockets. 

"Here," he said while offering the candy to Melia. "Share them with your friends." 

Hesitating briefly, Melia reached out and took the sweets. 

"Erm, thanks." 

Tom gave her a winning smile. "You're welcome. I hope you and your friends enjoy them." 

Then he left. 

Sitting in a dark corner with her friends, Skye Amberidge narrowed her eyes at Melia. 

**********

They stood in a circle with Tom and Abigail at the centre. Abigail's eyes were downcast, and two rolls of parchment hung loosely from one hand. A few of the boys, such as Edmund, stole uneasy glances at their peers. 

"Clem." 

"Yes, Master?" 

"Are you a fairy?" 

"No!" 

"Abby's diary was full of lies, eh?" 

"Yes, Master," Clem replied, vehemently. 

"I think Miss Orlen should be taught that it is unwise to fabricate tales about her fellow soldiers. 

"Miles, what would happen if someone accused you of being a fairy?" 

"I would beat the shite out of the bloody fool, My Lord." 

"Very well then. 

"Clem, come and teach Miss Orlen a lesson, but don't touch her face." 

Reluctantly, Clem walked up to Abby and half-heartedly kicked her in the shins. 

Tom reached out and brutally grabbed Clem by a handful of hair. Clem's eyes closed tightly in pain while he drew in a sharp intake of air. 

"I'm beginning to think you _are_ a fairy," Tom said in a low, threatening voice. "Now, teach her a lesson or I will hurt _you_." 

He roughly let go of the boy's hair. 

Fright briefly passed across Clem's face before he recovered his composure. Then he stepped behind Abigail and administered a forceful kick to her lower back. 

Abigail screamed and fell to the floor with one hand clutching at the small of her back. 

"Get up, girl," Tom snarled, and then reached down and dragged her onto her feet by the hair. 

"Jason, didn't Abby accuse you of being a fairy, too?" 

"Aye, Master." 

"Then prove to her that you aren't." 

Jason went to the sobbing girl and drove his fist into her stomach. 

She fell onto the floor writhing and gasping for breath. Her face began to turn an alarming shade of purple. 

"Edmund." 

Trembling minutely, Edmund walked over to the girl curled up on the floor and spat on her face. 

"_Hurt_ her, Edmund," said Tom in an ominous tone. 

Edmund leapt and landed squarely on Abigail's legs. 

She screamed. 

"Friedrich." 

One by one, the soldiers taught Abigail a lesson. 

**********

Frustrated and tired, he went from bathroom to bathroom searching for the Chamber of Secrets. He had limited his quest to the girls' toilets on the second floor. Based on the veiled clues in Salazar Slytherin's writings, he believed he was on the correct course. 

"Damn," he muttered to himself as he exited a toilet in the middle of the corridor."It has to be here." 

Tom glanced at a clock hovering between two suits of armour. An instant before the clock flew away, he noted that it was thirteen minutes past 3 A.M. Tom then silently strolled toward the end of the corridor and turned left into another passage. He had been here many times. Pale moonlight streamed through two windows at the end of the passage. Tom stealthily went toward the girls' toilet that was only a few steps from the windows. 

Just before he opened the door to the room, The Bloody Baron entered the corridor by floating through the wall between the two windows. 

The Bloody Baron, who was Lord Lorcan Carney Averill Wigheard in another time and place, turned his vacant gaze toward Tom. 

For a few seconds that seemed to stretch into eternity, Tom and the Slytherin ghost stared at one another. Then Tom broke the spell and entered the girls' toilet. Shortly after, The Bloody Baron followed him. 

Tom saw the apparition materialise into the room with his peripheral vision. Ignoring The Bloody Baron, Tom began to inspect the sink before him. 

"What is it you seek, young master?" The Bloody Baron exclaimed in a rich, commanding voice. 

Surprised, Tom looked up at the ghost. This was the first time he had ever heard the spectre speak in the five years he had attended Hogwarts. 

Before he could respond, The Bloody Baron added, "Do you seek glory or conquest?" 

Tom thought for a brief moment. 

"Conquest." 

The Bloody Baron nodded and said, "What you seek is three steps to your left." 

Then he disappeared. 

Frowning slightly, Tom went to examine the sink a few paces to his left. After spending fifteen minutes going over every inch of the basin, he could not find the serpent Slytherin mentioned. 

"_In the chamber wherith witches groometh lies a spout wherith cleansing water floweth. Look closely, me friend, for there ye will findeth a serpent_," Tom quoted aloud.

Then the answer to the puzzle came to him all at once.

"The _tap_," he said in a breathless, excited voice. "The bloody _tap_."

Bending forward, he carefully eyed the surface of the sink's tap. There it was. A miniscule snake was etched on the side.

"_Speak to it and it will showeth ye the way."_

In Parseltongue, he said, "Show me the way to Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets." 

Triumph. 

The copper tap glowed with a white brilliance and began to spin. Then the entire sink sank from view, thereby exposing a large pipe_._(1) 

Tom climbed into the pipe. Suddenly, he found himself sliding swiftly through the tube. The journey through the dark and slick cylinder seemed forever. Just when Tom started to wonder when it would end, he flew from the pipe like a projectile and landed on a damp, mildewed floor. 

He gained his feet, pulled out his wand, and said, "_Lumos_." 

He appeared to be in a small, stone cavern. Tom reckoned that he was far below the castle's foundation. It was quite dark in the chamber despite the glow from his wand. He was not sure where to proceed. After a moment of deliberation, he decided to move forward. The going was slow due to the darkness. Tom did not wish to inadvertently injure himself and become trapped in what seemed too much like a tomb. 

After a number of turns and minutes, Tom came across a dead-end. Before him was a wall on which there was a carving of two entwined serpents with large, gleaming emeralds for eyes.(2) 

Tom grinned and stepped up to the carved stone. 

"Open up in the name of Ssslytherin'sss heir." 

As the wall opened, the entwined serpents parted and then slid out of sight.(3) Tom Marvolo Riddle, known as Lord Voldemort to his three intimate friends, entered Salazar Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets. 

~~~~~~ 

(1)J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and The Chamber of Secrets, _The Chamber of Secrets_ (p300, Scholastic Press, 1999) 

(2)J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and The Chamber of Secrets, _The Chamber of Secrets_ (p304, Scholastic Press, 1999) 

(3)J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and The Chamber of Secrets, _The Chamber of Secrets_ (p305, Scholastic Press, 1999) 


	8. Thirteen

**_Warning_**_: Violence and darkness ahead (of course)._

_**Disclaimer:** The Harry Potter universe belongs to J.K. Rowling and Warner Brothers._

**~~~~~~**

_**Immortalis Dominus Dominatus**_

**Part I: _Alpha_**

**by Auror5**

~~~~~~

**Chapter VII: Thirteen **

Save for the weak light cast by his wand, the chamber was dark and riddled with monstrous shadows created by the play between obscure and illumination. Raising his wand high above his head, Tom saw a few unlit sconces hovering near the adjacent walls. He then stepped up to the nearest group of candles. 

"_Flammo_." 

A small flame lit the three candles. Tom went to each sconce in the chamber and carried out the same task. After he had finished, he surveyed the dimly lit, cavernous space. Pairs of impressive, serpent-carved, stone pillars that appeared to support the ceiling at regular intervals dominated the rectangular shaped room. Slowly, while admiring the deceptive movement of the carvings, Tom walked towards the back wall. Just before he reached it, the true centrepiece of the chamber reared into view. A statue of an ancient, bearded wizard towered above him against the wall. Tom fell to his knees and tilted his head back to gaze into his ancestor's face. 

"My Lord, my _true_ grandfather, Salazar Slytherin," he whispered in awe, unaware that he had slipped into Parseltongue. "My Lord, I'm here to finish your noble work." 

Suddenly, there was a low rumble as though stones were rolling slowly across the floor. Peering closely at the statue's face, Tom realised that its mouth was gradually opening. He quickly rose to his feet. The mouth continued to yawn open until it resembled a gigantic black tunnel. Then the widening ceased. Silence. 

For a moment, Tom stood with a bemused expression on his face. Was there another requirement expected of him? Frowning up at the statue, he sat on the floor for further contemplation. 

His disappointment grew as the minutes passed. Did he come so far for naught? Sighing, he slowly stood and gazed up at the stone face. _Perhaps there is something inside its mouth_, he thought. 

Scrutinising the statue in the glow of his wand, he looked for natural footholds on the stone for him to climb. There was none. 

Concentrating with all his might, Tom pointed his wand at the statue's beard and said, "_Scalae_." 

The beard carved into stone transfigured into a steel ladder mounted onto the statue. Tom started to climb. 

When Tom reached the top, he pointed his wand into the dark tunnel of the mouth and peered inside. The glow from his wand revealed a large amount of strange appearing material inside the statue. 

"_Accio_." 

Tom nearly fell from the ladder in his attempt to escape being hit by the material ejecting from the mouth. He watched as yards of the stuff poured from the statue and pooled at its base. It dawned on him that what he was looking at was reptilian skin. 

"_Snake skin_," he whispered as the tail of the serpent's hide dropped to the floor. 

Tom climbed down to investigate the skin further. He realised as he walked around the mound of old hide that he was viewing a mass of skin shed by a basilisk. 

"But where is the basilisk _now_?" he said aloud. 

He returned to the top of the statue and peered inside. Far below him in the darkness, he could barely discern a weak, pulsating green light. 

"_Accio_." 

Slowly, the green light rose toward him. Before it reached the entrance of the mouth, Tom saw that the light source was an enchanted emerald set into the top of a chest about the size and dimension of an adult-sized shoebox. When it floated from the mouth, Tom grabbed it with his free hand and nearly toppled from the ladder. The object was much heavier than it appeared for it was made of pure lead. With difficulty, Tom climbed down from the statue. 

When he made it to the floor, he quickly sat and placed the chest on the ground before him. There was a gold-plated lock on its front in which to place a key. Tom sighed, stood, and went back up the statue. 

Tom summoned the key that he was positive lay at the bottom of the statue's interior. He was rewarded for his effort. The silver key flew from the mouth and clattered onto the floor next to the pile of serpent skin. 

Quickly clambering down, Tom fetched the key and returned to the lead box. He inserted the key into the lock and the top of the chest sprang open. A scroll was contained inside. Carefully, he unwound it. The parchment the document was written upon had an odd, but familiar, texture to it. Tom began to read. 

_Myne Eyr, _

_This peece of muggul skyn upon of whych I have writ was enchanteth so that it wuld be preserveth for 1500 years. I had fayth that one of my descendanths wuld fynd it befor it dissentegrateth.... _

************************* Special Note from the Author *************************

_Many apologies for stopping here. This is how far I progressed. I've been ill for most this year, and now I am moving to a new state (because of my health) very, very soon. I promise that I will finish this story. It will just take a little longer for me to finish it than I thought. Anyways, I will work (using my trusty laptop) on finishing this chapter while I am on the road (and at my new home in a nice place far, far away from where I am now)._

_I hope you enjoyed the teaser! _

_Please don't hate me, Synn. I feel horrid for making all of you wait so long for this chapter (even though it's not finished obviously). _

_**~Auror5**_


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